


(NCOMMON 
COiWMONER 

BY EDMUND VANCE- COOKE ; 



J^^ 



L^H 







Class "PS^J OX 
Book, ,Q 6 "g Ua 

Copyright }l°. 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




The Uncommon 
Commoner 

And Similar Songs 
Of democracy 

by 

Edmund Vance Cooke 

n 

Author of 

" Chronicles of the Little Tot " 

"Impertinent Poems" 

" Rimes to be Read " 

" Baseballogy" 



ii^ 




15:^131^===: 



NEW YORK 

Dodge Publishing Company 
214-2 20 East 23d Street 



==!DJ™?r'J 



r^3 



3t^ 



ls=rsr™ 



Rl 



LU 



^E 



3QC1 



3.^.aK^ 






Copyright, 1913, by 

DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

First Edition, July, 1913 



-^ 



r 



r==l 



]BF=^I 



Gl 



©aA351259 



Tl 



PL 



^ 



AUTHOR'S NOTE 

The writer of these verses would like the reader to 
know that no one of these songs was written simply 
for the purpose of expressing democracy; still less 
were they all written for the purpose of making a 
volume, with democracy as the dominant note. 

The democracy is in them because the writer could 
not express himself and keep it out. It is his political 
doctrine, his social solution, his religious faith. 
Without denying the difficulties of democracy, he 
conceives them to be less than the wrongs and 
weaknesses of any alternative. 

The verses are chosen from various periods of his 
writing during a score of years and mjtny of them 
have had first publication in a variety of mediums; 
"The Century Magazine," "The Saturday Evening 
Post," the newspapers of "The Newspaper Enter- 
prise Association," " The American Magazine," "The 
Critic," "The Public," "The Independent," "The 
News Letter," "The Youth's Companion," "The 
Woman's Home Companion," "Everybod3^s Maga- 
zine," " Success," "Christmas Judge," " The Chautau- 
quan," "The Associated Sunday Magazines," "The 
Cleveland Press'' and "The Cleveland Leader," to 
all of which he expresses his thanks. 



L... 



r 



J 



=]I=IE 



DOE 



~}[=]E 



3131=™; 



J 



]□[» 






CONTENTS 

Page 

Songs of Citizen and State 7 

Songs of the Humbler Heroes 33 

Songs of Struggle and Strength 47 

Songs of the Efficient Folk 67 

Songs of a Newer Heaven and a Better Earth 79 

Songs of Time and Place 93 



iic=inr= 



ll^BC 



-:hieic= 



dj^ieee:^ 









r 



1=^1=^ 



^in p::::^^:^:^ ^r = J=:::^, , . ,. 1 | , = 1 [=; 



ipSC^^ 



Songs 
Or Citizen and State 



Who will not dig for his neighbors' 
weeds, 

In his own green garden will find 
their seeds. 



l^a CZIZZIZIZU E];^ I HE i r==n r=:n===:;=n nr=Jj| 



3ns 






^=![HI 



At any rate we are democratic in the past tense. Not for King 
John do we toss our hats, but for the nobles who wrested the 
Charter; not for Charles, but for Cromwell; not for George III, 
but for Patrick Henry; not for Buchanan, but for Lincoln. 



1 



THE UNCOMMON COMMONER 

BULWARK and barbican, grim and tall. 
Keep and turret and moated wall. 
Portico, peristyle, stately hall. 
Palaces, castles, courts and all; 
Lofty minaret, lordly dome. 
Humble yourselves at the childhood home 
Of Lincoln. 

Made of a few sticks, clumsily cut; 
No window to open, no door to shut; 
So wretched, indeed, that the name of hut 
Were gilded praise of its poverty, but — 
By the kernel alone we must judge the nut. 
Who could have dreamed in that early hour 
That out of such muck would have sprung the 
flower — 
A Lincoln! 

Reactionaries! who strive, to-day. 
To hold that men are of differing clay; 
Oligarchs! plutocrats! ye who say 
The fathers were wrong, and yea or nay 
May answer a People's Rights to-day. 
That some are to nile and some obey. 
One plain word shall command your shame; 
Into your faces I fling the name 
Of Lincoln. 

Whence did he come? From the rearmost rank 
Of the humblest file. Was it some mad prank 
Of God that the mountains were bare and blank 

[9] 



r 



ii™™JQE 



30CE 



=™3ac 



S=3E]E 



=3ECSS!J 



.J 



I^E 



^ 



HE 



3QE 



EIE 



And the strong tree grew on the lowliest bank? 
Not so! 'Tis the Law. The seed blows wide 
And the flower may bloom as the garden's pride. 
Or spring from the ditch. Nor time, nor place. 
Condition nor caste, nor creed nor race 
May limit manhood. The proof is the case 
Of Lincoln. 

How was he trained — this untaught sage, 
With nothing but want for his heritage? 
Set to work at the tender age 
Which should have been conning a primer page; 
His whole youth spent for the pitiful wage 
Of axman, boatman, farmer, clerk; 
For learned alone in the school of work 
Was Lincoln. 



r 



J 



What was his power? Not kingly caste, 
Nor jingle of gold, howsoever amassed; 
Not Napoleon's force, with the world aghast; 
Not Tallyrand's cunning, now loose, now fast; 
Not weak persuasion or fierce duress. 
But strong with the Virtue of Homeliness 
Was Lincoln. 

Homely in feature. An old style room^ 

With its tall, quaint clock and its old, quaint loom. 

Has very much of his home-made air; 

Plain, but a plainness made to wear. 

Homely in character. Void of pretense; 

Homely in homeliest common sense. 

Homely in honesty, homespun stuff. 

For every weather, mild or rough. 

Homely in humor, which bubbled up 

Like a forest spring in its earthen cup. 

Homely in justice. He knew the law. 

But often more than the letter he saw; 



tio] 






E][=]E 



313E 



E]|=]E 



J 



3E1I=='I 



EI [HE 



ElE 






And, sheathing the sword to its harmless hilt. 
Wrote " Pardon " over the blot of guilt. 
Homely in patience. His door stood wide, 
And: carping and cavil from every side 
Dinned in his ears, but he went his way 
And did the strongest that in him lay. 
Homely in modesty. Never a claim 
Of credit he made, and he shirked no blame. 
Yet firm in his place as the hemisphere 
When principle said to him, " Stand thou here ! " 
Homely in tenderness. Motherhood's breast. 
Where the new babe cradles its head to rest. 
Is not more tender than was his heart; 
Yet brave as a Bayard in every part 
Was Lincoln. 






r 



Ji 



O, Uncommon Commoner! may your name 
Forever lead like a living flame! 
Unschooled Scholar! how did you learn 
The wisdom a lifetime cannot earn? 
Unsainted Martsn:! higher than saint! 
You were a MAN with a man's constraint. 
In the world, of the world, was your lot; 
With it and for it the fight you fought. 
And never till Time is itself forgot 
And the heart of man is a pulseless clot, 
Shall the blood flow slow when we think the thought 
Of Lincoln. 



[II] 



li—JClE 



lElt=P 






ElQIHi 



3E: 



3C— 7 



Whea we succeed in nationalizing neigtiborliness, we shall have 
gone a long way toward democracy. To appreciate our neighbors, 
we must appreciate their household gods. 



LINCOLN AND LEE 

THERE were days when the compass divided the 
love of the North and the South, 
When the heat of a smoldering anger flamed out of 

each partizan mouth. 
But past are the hatred and heartache, and a new gen- 
eration are we. 
Who honor the North for her Lincoln and honor the 
South for her Lee. 

Oh, once we were bitter of spirit and swore with a 
sectional oath 

That a friend of the one or the other could never be 
friendly to both. 

But behold ! a new day has arisen, and our eyes, which 
were purblind, can see, 

And be glad that the North loves her Lincoln and re- 
joice that the South honors Lee. 

Yes, more, for not only as neighbors must Northland 

and Southland abide. 
But each must be part of the other and share with 

the other her pride. 
Till our love is as broad as the prairie and our charity 

deep as the sea. 
That the South shall be worthy of Lincoln and the 

North shall do honor to Lee. 

And how may we prove our approval, how warrant 

the words of our praise 
But by making our deeds as a nation as leaves to the 

crown of their bays; 

[12] 



:3eJ! 



l:h3ede=^= 



ElESGEHE^ 



S=~3E3E 



~3Q 



3irrrrr. 



=~UP 






^i^snuE 



....-^ ; ^j^ 






That our men be a growth that is worthy the soil 

which has borne us the tree 
Whose roots spread abroad through the nation and 

whose fruits were a Lincoln and Lee! 



I 



'^ 



1 J: 



[13] 






3131^ 



E]QIH 



3E 



BE 



ElE 



Let us not forget that a citizen of New York is a citizen of New 
Mexico. Local likes and dislikes we may have, yet North Dakota 
I and South Carolina are essentially one. 

EACH FOR ALL 




L 



I LIKE the North. I like its stress, 
Which makes for strength and sturdiness. 
I like its seasons, marked and clear, 
Which hymn the progress of the year; 
Its child-like spring, which gently wakes. 
Its summer watched by clear-eyed lakes. 
Its autumn with its golden flood. 
Its winter's challenge to the blood. 
I like its winter-weathered oaks, 
I like its winter-weathered folks, 
To whom I send this greeting forth: 
I like you, as I like the North. 

I like the East. I like the stir 
Of things which are with things which were. 
Here were our first foundations set 
And here our proudest temples yet. 
I like its old, historic sites; 
I like its ever-new delights. 
Its older custom and its air 
Of comme il taut and savoir faire. 
I like its cities, where the tide 
Of human life runs deep and wide. 
Here sits, as at a constant feast, 
The polished, poised and memoried East. 

I like the South. Its pulses run 
To the warm measure of its sun. 
Yet, knowing that to-'morrow comes. 
It sometimes sits and twirls its thumbs. 
Learning that life has much to give. 
It takes its ample time to live. 

[14] 



r 



l^=iaE 



zll^iB 



SQG 



ilEsIG 









J 



r' 



3E 



=iuin 



3E 



L 



Tl 



3[~j 



I like its gentleness of tone. 
Its pride in all it calls its own, 
I like its people and their charm 
Of easy welcome, wide and warm. 
Warm as love's kisses on the mouth. 
The South! the loyal, loving South! 

I like the West. It seems to keep 
The all-out-door-ness in its sweep. 
It greets the gray of every dawn. 
Then turns and forges further on. 
Large is its thought and large its view. 
It proves the old, it tries the new. 
It thrives on wheat, or thrives on chaff, 
It takes its failures with a laugh. 
Renews its strength to try them later. 
Succeeds and turns to something greater. 
O, staunch of heart! O, broad of breast! 
I like the West, the big, brave West! 

The North! the South! the West! the East! 
No one the most and none the least. 
But each with its own heart and mind. 
Each of its own distinctive kind, 
Yet each a part and none the whole. 
But all together form one soul; 
That sold Our Country at its best. 
No North, no South, no East, no West, 
No yours, no mine, but always Ours, 
Merged in one Power our lesser powers. 
For no one's favor, great or small. 
But all for Each and each for All. 



IT 



][~1 



l==ip 



==iaE 



[IS] 



zlf=lE 



3DE 



EIGEIE 



3Elt~! 



^s=3Be; 



•II^B 






We make our saints into statues and our moralities into statutes, [j] 
always thereby ctiilling some of tlie vital qualities out of them. |j 
A man may not be set apart from his fellows without losing more 
than he gains. 



n 



L 






WASHINGTON 



True, his name 
in our Halls of 



WASHINGTON is forgotten. 
Still stands unchallenged 
Fame, 
And still, with gelid form and fossil phrase. 
We mouth the tributes of the earlier days. 

But Washington is pigment, print and stone, 
A pictured being not of flesh and bone 
With red life dancing to his finger tips. 
But a cold shadow of blank brow and lips. 

Come with me to the Rockies! One Great Mount 
Leaps from among a score of such account 
That each might be a bridegroom to the sky- 
Each can enchant the soul and fill the eye. 

Remove a hundred miles and send your sight 
Across the plains. The Great Peak's lonely height 
Merges the great score to a greater One; 
Even so amid his range was Washington. 

And, looking from this distance, our dim eyes. 
Seeing his towering majesty arise. 
Have made it type of all. So we have lost 
His manhood in his t3^ehood, to our cost. 

Tear this austere abstraction from the mind; 
He was no more nor less than our own kind; 
His eye could kindle and his lips could laugh. 
And even his sins cry out in his behalf. 
[i6] 



R=l 



J 



lli===1ElE 



3i~ii™E:==^==ia!^ 



SHIE3EE 



DEDIE^ 



Pack back his weaknesses upon his head 
And make him human! Let his blood run red! 
Cease our obeisance at his shrine and stand 
Face to his face and grasp him by the hand! 



^ 



r 



[17] 



i™IQE 



=11^] t= 



•^ai'-T— -= 



E]I~IE 



rn 



^3CI(H™! 



r 



E]E 



3Q[^ 



~1[H 



ElE 



^ 



L 



VTAa^ Jefferson and Lincoln were to the Nation, Johnson was 
to the City. And as the City looms more and more potential tor 
good or tor evil in our centralizing civilization, who shall say 
that the inspiration of his example shall not yet prove as great 
as theirs? 



B 






Ikssi 



TOM L. JOHNSON 

A MAN is passing. Hail him, you 
Who realize him stanch and strong and true. 
He found us dollar-bound and party-blind; 
He leaves a City with a Civic Mind, 
Choosing her conduct with a conscious care, 
Selecting one man here, another there. 
And scorning labels. Craft and Graft and Greed 
Ran rampant in our halls and few took heed. 
The Public Service and the Public Rights 
Were bloody bones for wolf and jackal fights. 
Now, even the Corporate Monster licks the hand, 
Where once he snarled his insolent demand. 
Who tamed it? Answer as you will. 
But truth is truth, and his the credit still. 

A Man is passing. Flout him, you 
Who would not understand and never knew. 
Tranquil in triumph, in defeat the same. 
He never asked your praise, nor shirked your blame. 
For he, as Captain of the Common Good, 
Has earned the right to be misunderstood. 
Behold! he raised his hand against his class; 
Aye, he forsook the Few and served the Mass. 
Year upon year he bore the battle's brunt; 
And so, the hiss, the cackle and the grunt! 
He found us striving each his selfish part. 
He leaves a City with a Civic Heart, 
Which gives the fortune-fallen a new birtH, 
And reunites him with his Mother Earth; 
[i8] 



r 



J 



]^i 






ElEiE 



3r™Ei 



IL 



t^ 



Which seeks to look beyond the broken law 
To find the broken life, and mend its flaw. 

A Man is passing. Nay, no demigod. 
But a plain man, close to the common sod 
Whence springs the grass of our humanity. Strong 
Is he, but human; therefore sometimes wrong. 
Sometimes impatient of the slower throng. 
Sometimes unmindful of the formal thong, 
But ever with his feet set toward the height 
To plant the banner of the Common Right, 
And ever with his ey^ fixed on the goal. 
The Vision of a City with a Soul. 

And he is fallen? Aye, but mark him well; 

He ever rises further than he fell. 

A Man is passing? I salute him, then, 

In these few words. He served his fellow-men 

And he is passing. But he comes again! 

He comes again! not in that full-fleshed form, 
Which revelled in the charge, which rode the storm. 
But in that firm-fixed spirit, which was he. 
That heritage he left for you and me; 
Before no Vested Wrong to bow the knee. 
Before no RighteoiK Fight to shirk, or flee, 
Before all else to make men free, free, free! 






[19] 



ik^QE 



ElOSIE 



~!C3E 



3i~3in 



DHEELi 



I 



We solved the problem with the sword and so it is still unsolved. 
In saving the Union we started those forces from which we are 
compelled to save it again. 



\:=jt 



L. 



T W 



'^ac 



THE OLD ARMY 

E are because they were. 

These men, the halt, the gray, the sere; 
Look on them with a half-hushed cheer, 
Look on them v/ith a half-hid tear 
For long-laid memories which stir 
Within the heart's sad sepulcher. 

They march, they lag, mayhap they halt; 

Fatigue, to-day, is not a fault. 

And see! along the line arrayed 

Another host is on parade. 

By every side there stalks a shade 

Who bore some bloody badge of war. 

Ghosts of the living, too, there are; 
Ghosts of the young years which they gave 
And buried in a martieil grave 
The great Republic's life to save. 
Brave, boyish ghosts, we bow to you 
In these old comrades whom you knew. 

Praise to them! aye, but why? 
That they were brave to fight? No, no; 
The brutish beast will face his foe. 
Tooth against tooth and eye to eye. 
And, for the love of fighting, die. 
The game-bird in the pit will fight. 
Bleeding and blind. The snake, the kite. 
The very rat will tear and bite. 

They fought -^ but when the work was done. 
Instantly dropped the sword and gun 
[20] 



J 



]E1P=^I 



friSlt 






::i=irr 




3E 



For plow and pen. The war was won! 
" Let us have peace ! " the Captain cried 
And every loyal heart replied. 

And these are they — the halt, the sere! 
Look on them with the half-hushed cheer. 
Look on them with the half-hid tear. 
While loyal, loving memories stir — 
We are, because they were ! 



r-nJ 

IT 



[2J] 



IL 



L!=^IE]E 



ESEDES™:^ 



"THlQt 



p' 



^lE 



3E 



=]QE 



3C 



E]E 



T 



The old army established the tights of the blacks by violence, 
and consequently the rights of the blacks are still violated. Let 
the new army remember. 



L. 



Tl 



L 



THE NEW ARMY 

MARCH ! column inarch ! hark to the brasses and 
drums. 
March! column march! see where the New Army 

comes. 
Let the loud fife cry aloft its victorious voice! 
Let the proud pennons leap into the light and rejoice; 
Forward! aye, forward forever, 
Army of honest endeavor! 
Forward the forces of peace, rearward the armies of 

war. 
A cheer for the armies who make, a truce to the 
armies who mar! 

Come, let us look on the ranks with an in-seeing eye. 
These are the columns to live, not the columns to die. 
He, baring arms to create, is of higher employ 
Than he, be he never so great, bearing arms to destroy. 

The armies of war shall disband with their battle 
flags furled. 

But these are the armies of peace which shall con- 
quer the world. 

Honor to him. of the ranks of these forces of skill 

More than to any adept of the forces which kill! 
Forward then! forward forever! 
The day of defeat shall be never! 

Work shall be lord of the land, war may not lift up 
her face; 

Work shall be crested of glory, war wear the badge 
of disgrace. 



Bt^ 



~]|=St=^ 



[22] 



rin p= 



^J 



E]I=}[^ 



~1E]{^ 



I ' ' ~ 



3E 



S3EDE 



3E 



^ 



We have faith in our future because we have faith in our past. 
Not that we have never sinned and suffered — but that we have also 
accomplished. And what we have done, we can do. 



L 



1 



BUT WE DID 

WHEN the fathers of our history declared that 
men are free 
And flixng the buckskin gauntlet to the powers across 

the sea. 
There were fearful, faltering ones 
Who declared by all the suns 

Of the hoary-headed centuries that it could never be; 
We could never, never do it — 
But we did. 
Though the narrow ones were nervous. 
There were sturdy souls of service. 
And we did. 

When they welded all our feeble States to one united 

chain 
And proclaimed an open market to the wide world's 

brawn and brain, 
Kings and tyrants of all lands 
Rolled their heads and raised their hands 
As they clamored at the notion of a nation gone in- 
sane. 
And they said " You'll never" do it! " 
But we did. 
Spite of friction and of faction. 
There was singleness of action, 
And we did. 

When they placed the power of government in reach 
of rich and poor, 

With a ballot held in every hand to make its mean- 
ing sure. 



[23] 



t==imr: 



r 



ji 



El^E 



DEIE 



EIC^IE 



in r==l 



3E3IH 



3E 



IL.^-, 



Every fossilated fogy 
Conjured up a special bogy, 

With a "What! the serving and the served, the gen- 
tle and the boor? 
O, you must not, dare not do it!" 
But v/e did. 
For we knew man, bom of woman^ 
If he's nothing else, he's human. 
So we did. 

When contention in the council of the common- 
wealths was rife 

And the long-fanned, smoldering embers leaped to 
furious flames of strife, 

At the sounding of the drum. 

Half the world cried, " It has come ! 

Neither God, nor man, nor devil can preserve the 
Union's life; 

You can never, never do it." 
But we did. 
Though it tore our every vital, 
There was this much in requital — 
That we did. 




When the weary war was over and the blackness of a 

skin 
Ceased to be the sign and symbol of a nation's 

blacker sin. 
Still the cry was, " All your slaughter 
Only leaves you oil and water, 

Stirring in a common measure, but no unity within. 
You can never reconcile them." 
But we did. 

And our compass shows no section 

Harboring discord or defection. 
For we did. 



[l^rinfr^-r 



■rr-,TiK:~?)rrL'' 



[24] 



"m^E:^ 



:=Iii~lt== 



i 



3QE^ 






S3BE 



-^~E]IH~- 



Now again we face our problems with their settle- 
ment in doubt. 

And in trouble and in travail we must work ^e 
answer out. 

Do it with our own brains solely. 

Do it with our own hands wholly; 

Hampered by no sordid purpose, hindered by no 
party shout. 

You and I must face and do it, 
And we will. 
There's a shifting way and wrong way, 
.There's a lasting way and strong way, 
But we will. 

As we hold our ancient level true that each shall Ke 

as each. 
In right as well as rhetoric, in fact as well as speech. 
Those who loaf and those who labor, they who play 

and they who preach. 
That the man who digs in ditches. 
Nor the man who rolls in riches 
Shall either have a privilege the other may not reach; 
As we hold to this we triumph, 
As we will! 

Maybe your way, maybe my way. 

But, Eternal Justice, thy way. 
That we must and that we will. 



^ 






[25] 



L. 



aisiEs 



™3GE 



~E!t=]IE 



]Q(~1 



7^3- 



E^]E 






=3E 



==SE= 



Certain sophists have taken to sneering at the democratic docu=* 
ment upon which American liberties are predicated, because they 
have never taken the trouble to find out what it means. 



^ 



\^ 



THE DECLARATION 

JEFFERSON! how he stanchly wrote it! 
Tyranny cringed and cowered to note it! 
Liberty's lips leaped up to quote it! 
Then, and now, for you, for me: 
"All men are created free!" 

Hancock! how his bold hand signed itl 
How his sturdy stroke defined it! 
How the calm lines seemed to bind it. 

Bind it fast for you and me; 

"Men are equal, men are free!" 

Paine! His "Common Sense" inspired it; 
" Crisis " reenforced, re-fired it. 
In re-heartening words attired it. 

"Courage!" how the sentence rolls; 

"These are times that try men's souls!" 

Lafayette! he heard it, sought it. 
To his unselfish sword he taught it; 
Over seas he bravely brought it. 

Marquis born, but what cared he; 

"Men are equal, men are free!" 

Washington! his greatness gained it. 
Where a lesser had profaned it, 
His compelling power attained it. 

" King! " they tempted him. Not he! 

" Men are equal, men are free ! " 

Whittier! Lowell! they re-woke it. 
When an erring nation broke it. 
[26] 



l^lQE 



3t~3E 



~iai= 



EH=IE 



clB^^i 



In 



r' 



L 



Tl 



Adams, Garrison, Phillips spoke it. 
Spoke it like a god's decree; 
"Men are equal, men are free!'* 

Lincoln! how he re-enthroned it! 
When its sinning sons disowned it, 
When they bitterly atoned it, 

Hear his winging words a-cry 
"0£ the people — for and by!'- 

Let us then again re-read it; 

Let us hear it, let us heed it! 

These are times to-day which need it; 
Men are equal-born — and free 
All the equal-born must be. 

Citizens, who disobey it, 
Congresses, who rack and flay it. 
Courts, who cunningly betray it. 

Hear! and answer! who are ye? 

Men are equal! men are free! 



[27] 



Ib-r- 



li=3[3E 



335—= 



pll 






SHES 



EH^!^ 



1=]EI^ 



==!E 



War in the abstract becomes a picturesque display. But war :;j 
in the concrete! man has not made words to express it. [ij 






1 



THE MEASURE OF EYES 

THE devil's ghost came out of the ditch 
(Where the devil is buried) and slyly crept 
Where a twentieth century statesman slept; 
Premier or president, no matter which. 

" Look! " cried the devil, "look over the sea 
At the foreign nations, great and small. 
Nay, I will not offer to give you all 

As I offered a Man o£ Galilee, 

" But if one of the least of these you prize, 
I will give it to you at the cheapest rate. 
Almost too paltry a price to state; — 

A bleeding bushel of human eyes ! " 

" Away, away, thou horror of hell. 

Thou viperous vision, thou vampire-ghoul! 
Dost think me as foul as thou and fool? 

Away, for I scorn thy sinful spell." 

" Nay, friend, if your stomach be somewhat nice. 
You need not deliver the eyes alone. 
Leave them their sockets of flesh and bone 

And I still will pay the market price. 

" It is nothing that any man need abhor. 

All men must die, be it soon or late; 

And the passing of these shall make you great, 
For they shall die in civilized war." 

"Oh! ah!" said the statesman, "I see, I see. 
And now that I think, some men are rude 
And others there are who are different hued, 

O, different quite from you and me!" 
[28] 



li^^incs^ 



Di~!E^ 



2EE3EE; 



■ssal 






ElElFSaJ 



■ :3E 



So the devil collected his ghastly cost 
A dozen times over in fields and forts 
And you and I read the war reports 

Which told of the " glory " won or lost. 

"Glory!" God, what a blind fool's herd! 
The devil speaks soft and he works our ill 
To the uttermost notch of his evil will; 

His is the act and ours the word. 

We saw not, we heard not. We never knew 
The statesman was filling the devil's measure; 
But into the ditch he took the treasure, 

Blinded and bleeding, black, brown, blue. 



I " -l EE 



[^] 



iu 



^{^lE 



SH3E5E 



3I~]E 



•le 



npsdj 



Aye, hands=across=tbe'sea, O, ye BagUsh'tongued! but only it 
you are to cherish the rights of the lesser peoples as jealously as 
U you protect your own. 



L. 



1 



WHEN THE TWO FLAGS FLY 
TOGETHER 

WHEREVER a human breath is breathed, or 
the bones of brave men lie, 
The ruddy warmth of the English flag has flamed 

against the sky. 
Wherever Columbia's stars have shown, since ever 

their course began. 
The lowly ones of the earth have known they stood 
for the Rights of Man. 

And proud are we men of the Saxon blood of the 

centuries which are gone. 
And proud that the flags ride side by side in the 

twentieth century's dawn, 
Bo, who shall tear at the lion's hair, who pluck at 

the eagle's feather. 
If the sum of our might be firm for the right, as the 

two flags fly together. 

Yet not as a Gog and Magog shall the Saxon sons 

be twinned 
To sweep the earth with a sword of fire, or blast 

with a blighting wind. 
When the two flags fly together, then the wolf of 

war must cease 
To howl his sinister note and prowl on the world 

preserves of peace. 
Shall we measure our height in the scale of life by 

the length of tooth and claw? 
Shall we beat the brow to a narrow ridge and 

broaden the brutal jaw? 
[30] 



i 



pj 



E]t=I(= 



SHE 



HiF~^l!????*WEffW??1E3l;v^"/ 



J 



Or shall we use our swelling thews with the war- 
wolf held in tether. 

Till aeons shall praise the blessed days, when the 
two flags fly together? 



Sl-rrrn 



iu 



Oh, Thermopylae and Marathon were glorious words 

in Greece, 
But the Greek lives only for us to-day in the letters 

and arts of peace. 
The Roman sword and the Roman shield have rotted 

in rust away. 
But the Roman roads are paths of peace in many a 

land to-day. 
There were Marlboroughs, there were Wellingtons 

to further the English fame. 
But heap them up by the score and more and they 

pale at Shakespeare's name. 
Shall we have the wrath of the cyclone's path, or the 

shine of the harvest weather? 
Shall we choose the course of love, or force, when 

the two flags fly together? 

For we — are we always guiltless? And you — are 

you always sure 
That your children's children will proudly say: "It 

was well, and their plans were pure? " 
Can we stand and say: " This thing which I do to my 

brother across the sea 
Is the thing which I pray, ere the close of the day, 

my brother may do unto me? " 
Should ever the sons of the nation fall and the fields 

breathe fire and smoke? 
Should ever we who are proud to be free hard-fasten 

another's yoke? 
As we reason these in their just degrees, as we 

' answer their why and whether. 
In so much shall the light of our race burn bright, as 

the two flags fly together. 
[31] 



l!=^I3E 



=3E3 L==drj 



e=3[3eh; 



lOISIE 






ill 



t===i t; 



Tl 



ElEDG 



=i f=7-77—^:r^^ ^l 



SONGS 
OF THE HUMBLER HEROES 

To know all joy, to fear no wrath. 

To see heaven's stars, to know earth's ^ath ; 

More than these things no mortal hath. 



Ti 



r 



J 






=1I=IE 



Eiac 






3Ell===~l. 






Solving the Universe Is a hard fob, but we can always dig in 
the garden, or carry in the coal. 



1 



L. 



^ 



L 



HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN SOMEBODY 

HE might have been an author and have written 
many pages 
To blossom for a little hour and molder down the 

ages. 
He was clever, he was cultured, he was traveled, he 

could write. 
But the product of his genius never seemed to seek 

the light. 
You seldom saw his name attached to "Letters to 

the Press," 
But he always wrote a gentle word to soothe a 

friend's distress; 
And when he was in Petersburg, and Pekin, and in 

Rome, 
Instead of writing " Travels," he was writing letters 

home. 

He might have been an orator and wielded words of 

flame 
To illuminate the nation and to glorify his name. 
He was able, he was tactful, he was eloquent of 

speech. 
But he did not spread the eagle and rejoice to hear 

it screech. 
Seldom on the public platform did he ever play a 

part. 
But he always had a happy word to help a heavy 

heart. 
And perhaps his cheerful speeches were too simple 

for the stump. 
But they made a fallen friend forget he'd ever had a 

bump. 



[35] 



rF~^ 



□E 



ElEslE 



3EE 



31=]!^ 



liJ 
Jl 






ii~! 



in" 






lirsri 



He might have been a scholar with a string of high 

degrees. 
And have found some hidden meaning in a play of 

Sophocles, 
But, instead of ever studying the dim and ancient 

letter. 
He was studying his little world and how to make it 

better; 
How to do some little kindness, common to the pass- 
ing eye, 
But which the hurried rest of us had noted — and 

passed by. 
He might have been somebody on some self -encircled 

plan. 
If he hadn't been so busy being something of a man. 



[36] 



^ 



□ 



IT 



J 



EE 



=](==] [^^ 



30E 



3t=IE 



DQI^ 



IL 



n 






r 



What is poetry? Is it not seeing the commonplace thing in the 
uncommonplace way? 

SOMEBODY CALLS IT HOME 

COUNTRY 'round is flat and dull; town's a sort 
of match; 
Landscape needed mendin', but the town's a blame, 

poor patch. 
Ugly is an ugly word, so I won't call it such, 
But just a look'll show you that the town ain't very 

much. 
Streets are mostly wagon-ruts and sidewalks hit or 

miss; 
Up a step for that one and down two jumps for this ! 
Just a string of sawed-ofF stores and houses sprawled 

about; 
First thing every drummer asks is, "When's the 

next train out? " 
" Cannon-Bail " goes through here with a shudder at 

the sight; 
Drops a mail-bag, maybe, as if pityin' our plight; 
Last place you might ever call a picture or a po'm. 
And yet some of us like the place; some of us call it 

home. 



Oh, I've seen some bigger places, maybe better, 
maybe worse. 

Seen some whoppin' residences, kept as careful as a 
hearse. 

Just jam full of doors and windows, with a tower, 
perhaps, to boot; 

Sort of crossed between a hotel and some sort of In- 
stitute. 

No doubt they had some fixin's on the inside, but I 
swear 

I'd feel about as homey in the Court House on the 
Square. 

t37] 



J 



QE 



3I^3E 



EII^IG 



DB 



J 



IT 



Hi 



Not that I'm reflectin' any, for I ain't the kind as 

pokes 
Ridicule at anybody. I believe that folks are folks! 
And I don't misdoubt those bigbugs are, as far as I 

can see^ 
Just as human in their feelin's and as good as you 

and me! 
Why, there's human folks in Timbuctoo, there's 

human folks in Nome; 
It mightn't suit me either place, — but someone calls 

it home. 

I suppose it's sort of foolish, but I bet I ain't alone 
In the notion that I got for things that I can call 

my own. 
Take my own place, it ain't so much to look at, after 

all; 
'Most any other house has got a window and a wall. 
Some common things for comfort and some dearer 

ones for looks, 
A sprinklin' round of pictures and a little row of 

books. 
Some garden things a-growin', and a welcome home 

at night 
From a little bunch of babies dancin' when you come 

in sight! 
It's all so sort of common that I couldn't make you 

see. 
If you didn't have that feelin' that comes bubblin' up 

in me. 
And as for me, there ain't no place beneath the big, 

blue dome 
That pulls me like it does, because — oh, well, I call 

it home. 



[38] 



1 

]~3E3E 



=3E=]E 



DQE 



Ell-Eli: 



Jl 



^ 



rrrtsdi 



j^E 



E]i== 



EIDE 



Humble virtue receives but little recognition from us- 
J because it is humble. 



L 



^ 



L 



^ 



chiefly 



THE TENDER-HEARTED MAN 

A PLAIN, rough room; a plain, smooth box; aye, 
both as plain 
As he, the dead, who lay as all have lain. 
Or will lie, sometime, somewhere. 

Everything was still 
Save where the clock grieved on, as if its will 
Would serve no master, since the old one passed 
From out that narrow lodgment to his last. 

We knew but little of him, for his ways were shy. 

But this we knew, that Sundays he passed by 

The small, rude church we backwoods folk had made. 

And neighbors whispered that he never prayed; 

And so we cast commiserating glances 

And whispered fears about his future chances. 

Then, after a while, our good old parson rose; 
Unschooled, uncultured, but a king to those 
Whose only merits have been taught and bred. 
And, gazing on the white, worn face, he gently said: 

"I don't know what our friend believed. He never 

made no fuss 
Or worry over it, and so it needn't worry us. 
He may have been a Baptist, or have taken Calvin's 

creed, 
Or maybe him and Ingersoll, as like as not, agreed- 
He may have thought God made us, or we simply 

just began; 
But, right or wrong, he alius was a tender-hearted 

man. 



[39] 



r 



it==j 



IQE 



3[=IE 



E3EIEEEE 



E]t=]E 



J 



'TI 






dse:^: 



^=zic 



3r^ 



" When he saw a cripple comin', did he walk fast and 

straight. 
As a half-unconscious slight upon the other fellow's 

gait? 
No, sir! He'd sort of laze along by that poor chap 

and smile, 
Like he liked to beat the record for the slowest-goin' 

mile. 
It wasn't much, but that's just it. It's doin' what 

you can 
That goes to make the value of a tender-hearted 

man. 



^ 



r 



J 



"When a beggar-man 'ud ask him, he didn't smell 
'nd shrink 

And say he'd give a nickel, if it didn't go for drink. 

When he saw a fallen mortal he didn't quote a text; 

He helped him up, and said: * Who knows but I 
may be the next? 

Who knows how long this brother fought, or how 
his fault began? 

Who knows that he could conquer?' said this ten- 
der-hearted man. 

"A half-growed, half-starved kitten and the sparrow 

it had caught 
'Ud both stir up the bottom of his feelin' and his 

thought. 
* Such awful things is in the world,' he'd say, and 

almost cry; 
'It's mighty hard that little cat or else the bird 

must die. 
This world beats me, but anyhow, though we don't 

know its plan. 
Let's stop a little trouble,' says this tender-hearted 

man. 



[40] 



E3iaE= 



U1=1E 



J 



3Qp=il| 



j^E 



IL 



^ 



3E^~ 



^=3I=S= 



313E 



=3E 



3E 



"He made mistakes, he had his sins, but never 
claimed to be 

The one man in the imiverse that had the right 
idee; 

He never aimed at greatness and you couldn't call 
him smart, 

But if he lacked a himdred ways he made it up in 
heart, 

For you can search your little world, from Beer- 
sheba to Dan, 

And you can't find none too many of the tender- 
hearted man." 

And though no word our parson spoke had given 
A promise that this soul had foimd a Heaven, 
No hope of golden gates, or music of the blest, 
Or ways of asphodel of happy rest. 
We felt, whatever lay beyond our sight. 
The tender-hearted man had gone aright. 



^ 



r 



J 



Ui] 






n i -^-^ u -^i F 



3QE 



3EZIE 



3aF=PJ 



r" 



3C^ 



!^c 



/ believe in the everyday hero. I think more of the man who 
founds a family, and maintains it, than of the man who founds a 
library, letting the city maintain it. 

FATHER 



'TI 



1 



HE was not the kind of father that you read 
about in books, 
He wasn't long on language and he wasn't strong 

on looks. 
He was not the sort of father that you hear about 

in plays, 
He was just a human father with a human father's 
ways. 



Just a sort of family father, fjiirly sound in wind 

and limb, 
Always ready at the word and not a nasty trick or 

whim; 
Seldom oif his feed and never had to be turned out 

to graze. 
Safe for any child to drive and broke to harness 

forty ways. 

Steady at the bit was father; found a lot of fun in 

working; 
Threw his weight against the collar, seemed to have 

no time for shirking. 
Used to smile and say the feed-bin kept him steady 

on the track; 
Safe tO' leave him without hitching; he'd be there 

when you came back. 

No, he never balked at working, but when he was 

through it once. 
Right down to the grass was father, with the chil- 
dren, doing stimts. 

[42] 



r 






L 



E]I=]E 



EiaE 



EIE3E 



IQI^ 



j~ll 



All of us would pile up on him and he'd welcome all 

the pack, 
But I'm wondering, after play-time, did we t-tay 

there — on his back? 



^ 






L 



Wasn't strong on dissipation, said his "gambol on 

the green" 
Was to fill the platter faster than the kids could lick 

it clean. 
And the next best game he knew of was an equal 

one to beat; 
It was keeping leather covers up to the supply of 

feet. 

Always on the job was father, plugging steady- 
like and strong, 

Never making any noise, but helping all his little 
world along. 

And to think! Lord! ain't it funny you can see 
things years and years 

And yet never know you've seen them, till your 
eyes are blind with tears. 

Quit his job one day and left us, smiling as he 

went away; 
Eulogy seems all so foolish. What can anybody 

say? 
Seemed like even in his leaving he was saving some 

one bother, 
For the one word on the granite which lies over him 

is "Father." 



[43] 



r 



r==] 



GE 



EII^IE 



3I3E 



E1I=]E 



ElEl^! 



r 



3E 



ni „.„. -rrT|nr:;=:^" 



IL 



{Tisquantum, or Squanto, was a native of Petuxet, an Indian village 
upon the site of whiicli Plymoutti was afterwards founded. He was 
captured by an early English expedition and taken to England, where 
be gained a knowledge of the language. Afterwards he was released 
from this slavery and drifted back to his native land, only to find that 



^ 

01 



I 



bis entire tribe had been swept off by a plague. When 
the pilgrims landed, he sought them out and was use- 
ful to them in many ways, notably in showing them 
how to raise the native maize, which was the salvation 
of the colonists, as the crops from English seed totally 
failed.) 

TISQUANTUM 

TISQUANTUM! who remembers him in story? 
Tisquantum! who recalls his lowly name? 
Yet if Thanksgiving Day has aught of glory, 
Tisquantum's is the honor and the fame. 

Tisquantum, once a slave and still a savage, 
Came to the embryo tic Pilgrim village; 

And did he come to violate and ravage? 
Or did he come for plunder and for pillage? 

Or did he come in boasting self-reliance, 
Bearing the symbol of the red man's loathing 

In poetry of barbarous defiance; 

Flint-headed arrows in the rattler's clothing? 

No, but he came as one friend to another. 
Came to those squatters on his tribal lands, 

A simpler, wiser, unforeseeing brother. 
He brought them gifts within his empty hands. 

The English seed the colonists had treasured 
Sulked in the foreign soil and would not yield. 

But imder good Tisquantum maize soon measured 
A saving harvest in its native field. 
[44] 



^=DaE 



2E3£SH:~i2S 



J 



r^E 



SS----'~IE 



3E 



EJDE 



31^ 



ElE 



IL. 



■H i" '-""' i' 



And SO), in sixteen hundred two and twenty, 
Bradford, the Governor, made Thanksgiving Day, 

In praise to God that Plymouth dwelt in plenty, 
Whereto the Indian Squanto led the way. 

Blest is the man of white whose want was pressing; 

To-day his paeans fill the halls of living; 
Curst is the man of red who gave the blessing 

And for his race shall never be Thanksgiving. 

And Squanto is forgot who served and taught us. 
While history has permed her pages full 

Of fierce and mighty sachems who have fought 
us — 
Philip, Tecumseh and the Sitting Bull. 

So here's a cup I pledge that diisky actor 
Who filled a part that no one else could play; 

Here's to the good Tisquantum, benefactor 
And founder of our harvest holiday. 

And now to you, sir, blest above your neighbor. 
Who feast in praise of God and self this day, 

Is it your own, or is it others' labor. 
Your own desert, or theirs, which wins your way? 

May it not be the world and you have scanted 
The praise and profit to some humble one. 

Some poor Tisquantum who has dug and planted 
And been forgotten when the toil was done? 



r 



J 



[45] 



IL 



Lb^QE 



E]|=IE 



■IBE 



DI~]E 



DE1C^=J1 



J 



r=== " 'f= 'f= " ^ 1— = " " " ===1 



!==lL=jj| [|===n r=Jl 



SONGS 
OF STRUGGLE AND STRENGTH 

We envy no man what he makes ; 
We challenge any what he takes. 



i^B t =:::!= ■ i i^^ c i n i =n f=i i . i nrssJ 



3C£SEi 






JOCESS^ 



=3E 



DEE 



EHE3EE 



We don't know whence we came or whitbet we're going, but we 
are fairly well convinced that we are bere. 



Ibrzirr;; 



EItE=: 



OCEAN 

"AVE after wave rides breaking on the beach, 
Wave after wave and each alike as each, 
And though a thousand break, yet evermore 
The crested army tilts against the shore. 



w 



Even so are we, each one o£ us a drop 
Flecked in the racing foam which may not stop. 
Each tribe of us a wave, which melts away 
And leaves a memory fleeting as the spray. 

Out of the sea of life we ride, we run, 
Gloomed in the depths, or sparkling in the sun. 
Back to that sea we sink, new tides come in — 
And who shall know that we have ever been? 

Yet on that sanded shore whereon we broke 
A grain of sand was rounded at the stroke. 
And though we cannot count the good or gain, 
Mayhap that was our work — to shape that grain. 



:ii^~IC3E2 



[49] 



ElI—lC^S—EESSHSGC 



==]!DiEE; 









The beasts are bound by the law of tooth and claw. Is man the 
superior animal? Is be, unless he rises superior to this law? 

THE HUNTER 

THE sky is gray in the East. Arise! 
Shake the heaviness off the eyes, 
Put the reluctant sloth to rout. 
Shoulder the hollow steel and out 
Into the morning, whose first faint flush 
Invades the soul with a rapturous rush. 



A flash of color salutes my sight 

As the swallow swims in the morning light. 

I bare my brow to the morning. See! 

The mock-bird rocks in the topmost tree. 

The breath of the dew darts through me. Hark! 

The shortened song of the meadow lark. 

The robin runs and the bluebird sings. 

And the squirrel — I can almost see his wings! 

The glory is on me. The very snail 

Leaves a rainbow tint in his slimy trail. 

I stretch my arms to the gilding sun, 

As if the world had but just begun. 

As if the Creator toiled last night 

And the word was leaving The Lips for light. 

I bow my head and I understand 

Religion; worship in every land; 

The worship of bird, of beast, of sun. 

The worship of All, the worship of One. 

And the wonder is that we do not bow 

To worship the Nature-Mother now. 

My frantic dog leaps into my face. 
Drops and freezes into his place. 
My blood leaps up, my pulses thrill; 
Something is in my hands — to kill. 
[50] 




I*- — I 



BE 



3f^lE 



3BE 



3j=jE 



i]IDI» 



"Tl 



3EE 



E3E 



ElE 



^ 



To kill! I bury my fangs of death 

Where glows the warmth of the living breath. 

To kill! I sear the sensitive sight 

And blast it forever to life and light. 

To kill! I tear the quivering note 

From its praise of love in the sensate throat. 

A moment ago and I hardly trod 
The earth, for I held the hand of God. 
I held the Hand and I clearly heard 
The deepest song and the fullest word. 
The purest poem, the highest hymn. 
But now, the sight of my soul is dim. 
Blurred by the blot of a clotted stain. 
Then I was Adam. Now I am Cain! 









—IIDE 



a[=]E 



[51] 



DtlJE 



Ell^IE 



E3E1F=^I 



r 

Can you see the mere man in the creature who assumes a dia= 
dem, who accumulates yellow metal, or who monopolizes utilities 
and who then demands that we concede his accretions to be him? 
Can you also see the man in the animal who comes crawling out 
of a garret with uncollared neck and broken shoes, or with a yel" 
II ,, ^ low skin or black? Can you look with the level eye? 

THE CHILD 

O W in the dawning of the world there came 
A single-minded, open-handed youth whose 
name 
Was Labor. Nothing his fortime but the will 
To use his swelling thews for good and not for ill. 
Contented he, though every day should break 
Its fortune on itself and live for its own sake. 



Then, in the early days, he wooed and won 
And mated with that daughter of the Sun, 
The smiling Earth. Happy the days that sped, 
Each with its burden, but devoid of dread, 
Until from out of the womb of Mother Earth 
Labor's first child. Accretion, had its humble birth. 

Ah, what a joy was theirs! Now was the mother's 

breast 
Full-flowing for the eager lips which wetly pressed. 
Now, too, the father's brow beaded the more 
That he might add a little to the store 
Which, in the infant's name, they set aside 
In prudent fondness and parental pride. 

In wondrous way the infant grew and grew, 
Past boyhood leaped and into manhood flew; 
Grew, toO', in craft, till, in an evil hour. 
He made his mother servant to his power. 
And serfed his father, granting him such dole 
As barely served to keep the husk around the soul. 
[52] 



~=E3, 



L. 



3I=}I~ 



lElE 



EISII 



J 



IQI^sii 









i 



^ 



Thus is it still to-day. Accretion rides, 
Digging his heels at weary Labor's sides. 
Or, when alighting, stands at easy rest, 
His conquering foot upon his mother's breast. 
Thus the creator hugs his galling chains. 
Thus the created spurns him for his pains. 



r 



ji 



[53] 



i—EIQE 



3ar==4 



I 1_1JJ 



3E 



3B 



ElQi: 



3G 



n f= 



1 



Ba^ ^Ae /nos< terrible test of democracy is the willingness to 
give every man his own, to give to the disinherited that which he 
owns, but which we possess. 



IL, 



^ 



LABOR 

A STRINGY root was wasting in the field; 
A stunted bush gave forth a bitter yield; 
A vine bore only barren seed juid rind; 
A rank weed reproduced its useless kind. 
I came. I touched them with the magic-pointed 
Plow and knife. I blessed them and anointed, 
Until these niggard gifts which Nature strewed 
Produced the grape and grain— < and man had foodL 

A fine cloth slumbered in the fibrous flax. 

Upon the chrysalis no man laid tax 

To garb his female-kind. A winter coat 

Was warming in the fleece of sheep and goat, 

And summer gowns grew in the cotton-boll, 

Unseen of all. I came and levied toll. 

The plant, the beast, the worm despised and loathed 

Gave tribute — and the naked man was clothed. 

The hill was heavy with the unborn stone; 

The tree which should be timbered had not grown; 

Along the shore the unmixed sand still lay; 

And in its bank still slept the unburnt clay. 

I came. I drove the huddling beast called man 

And bade him model on the God-made plan 

(Rock base, and forest wall and arching dome) 

Until there raised above man's head — the home. 

A forked beast among four-legged brutes 

I found this man and blessed him with these fruits. 

Unclad and improtected; yea, unfed, 

I filled him, covered him and roofed his head. 



[54] 



L 



___ 



□E 



E]E=3E 



SQE 



E1I~]G 



J 



J 



3EIF==Ji 



jp»E 



And ycrti, his children, heirs of yesterday, 
What are you rendering to me to pay? 
Yea, you who seize the choicest of my spoil, 
What is your fee to me — and mine who toil? 



3^ 



1== 



e™| 



Let it be just (not generous), for see! 
The law of your possession springs from me. 
Who first made property. And when, and where. 
Unjust Possession seizes on the share 
Of All, there shall my new commands 
Enthrone a later Justice, in whose hands 
The scale shall balance ever fair and true. 
Granting my share to mine, as yours to you. 



J 



[55] 



F==lt3E 



™]£^i[H=^^E^^™]nE 



ilt^E 



=r=r=-.-=r-.=-r! n r=il 



3aF=^i 



FtpSE 



see; 



~3E= 



Would any of us praise God for taking our substance from us 
and giving it to others? Then why should we utter thanks be"* 
cause we have more than others? 



!===i 



THANKSGIVING 

WE thank thee. Yea, in the even tone 
Of those who are glad o£ the goods they 
own. 
We thank Thee. Yea, that Thou hast preferred 
And blessed us more than the common herd. 
We thank Thee, part with the heart's intention. 
But most, let us own, with the lip's convention. 

"We thank Thee." Lord! what a selfish prayer. 
Thanks! — while a beggar's breast is bare? 
Thanks that our own full feast is spread 
While another creature is lacking bread? 
Thanks that our full-fed blood runs warm. 
While a starveling baby breasts the storm? 

Thanksgiving! The word is a godless taunt 
From the "House of Have" to the "House of 

Want." 
Until I share my uttermost crust 
With sinner or saint, with jailed or just, 
I will not clamor to God and raise 
My complacent eyes — and call it praise. 

Why, what am I, that Thou givest a feast 

Which Thou hast not shared with Thy worst and 

least? 
I look at the world and I see the yield 
For all, from forest and mine and field, 
And because I have seized a share, shall I 
Cry out Thanksgiving — and only cry? 



r;™3CH?y 



[56] 



--■-^i inrssaij 



]I3F=PI 



[■•■'" 



^ p= 



ss=)[ 



E3ES 



aaiH 









i-^j 



T 



Thanks? Nay, for though I am cloyed, I know 
The taste o£ the hungering want. And though 
My limbs are whole, I can feel the crack 
Of the bloody bones on the torture-rack. 
I have looked in the pit and have not feared^ 
But I know the shrink of the soul it seared. 

Yes, yes; I am even as you — of those 

Who can not, or will not, heal these woes. 

I am what I am, but I vsdll not be 

At one with the smug-lipped Pharisee 

Who praises God for his earthly gain, 

While Misery stares through the window-pane,, 



L!] 

11 



[57] 



J-^Sii^IE 



mi^ 



-BfEnt^B 



r' 



r 



j] " Faith, Hope and Charity — these three. But the greatest ot 
i] these is — " Justice, 

B 

UNWEEPING OR UNWEPT 

*'T TNWEPT, unhonored and unsung" 

\J Were not the worst of Fortime's bringing; 
Dread, rather, thine own eyes and tongue 

Unweeping and unsinging, 
Unweeping for thy brother, bound 
But struggling in the somber Night, 
Unsinging from thy vantage-ground 

The happy tidings of the Light. 



Weep and be sure thou shalt be wept, 

Sing gladly, and the joy-sounds ringing 
May wake some soul, which long hath slept, 

To echo back thy singing. 
Let fall thy tears! Let rise thy strain! 

So canst thou never be among 
Those heritors of man's disdain, 

Th' "unwept, unhonored and unsung." 



1 



[58] 



Llk=3aE 



2il~i!l 



---1 71 r=^ 



E~3E^1E 



ilEllJ 



S^ 









3EC 



=i:~=i 



We speak of the passing of Time, yet Time is ever here. Even 
J Eternity, can it be anything else than a sustained Now? 



L 



THE RIDDLE OF THE CLOCK 

A LONELY poet all devoid of wings 
(Which men say Genius has) to fly. 
Was training him some thoughts (those stubborn 

things) 
To aid him. to his goal. The hours flew by, 
And as they passed, his patient time-piece broke 
Upon his thought. Thereon the poet spoke: . 

"Curses on thee, slave of Time! 

With thy dull, insistent chime; 

With thy hands which point the way 

Where the night gropes toward the day; 

With thy calm, unrestful face 

Ever staring into space: 

How thy constancy doth mock 

All my restless strife, O clock! 

'* Ha! Thou art a very Sphinx 
Staring, placid, and methinks 
That thy riddle, still unread. 
Is that which thou just hast said. 

"Whose those dozen monotones? 
Yesternight's last dying moans? 
Or the Pallas-shouts, thus freeing. 
As the new day leaps to being? 
Symbols of the death and birth. 
Both in one, of things of Earth? 
Both in one? Then in that blending 
Can beginning be, or ending? 

"Or by that repeated strain 
Of monotonous refrain, 
[59] 



L 



lFr=nE3E 



=11—1 1 



3raE 



B!~1E 



:.21E 



I 



^.^ 



=3E 



3EES^ 



3E 



^E 



Dost thou aim to tell us How 
Time is never aught but Now? 
That we are as evanescent 
As that ever-passing Present? 

"'Tis thy riddle, not devolving 
On a humble bard for solving. 
'Tis the riddle o£ the ages 
Still disputed by the sages; 
Where, O, where the CEdipiis 
Who will solve it now for us? " 



_— li— ~ 



r 



iJ 



He ceased, and still the old clock's face 
With stolid stare looked into space, 
And still it guided on its way 
The blind Night groping towards the day. 



[60] 



iF=iaE 



SI—DG 



E3EJiE 



^!=1E 



siaiE=a 



r 



EltH 



EiE 



3ts~~is=s=3n]c; 



=][— 



3t^ 



We make Prankensteijis with comparative ease. Having made 
them, we must either feed them, or destroy them. Unless, happily, 
^ we learn to make them feed us. 



Vr~){= 



If' 



THE MONSTERS 

'EVER were such since the mother sun 
First watched the earth as it whirled 
spun. 
Leviathan, dragon, harpy, roc. 
To these were of kindly, gentle stock. 

Cunning of brain and void of heart. 
Soulless; bloodless in every part; 
Human of crest, of reptile loins. 
Scaled with a weight of golden coins. 
Bloated of paunch and cruel of claw 
To feed the rapacious, open maw. 

Whoever is touched by their golden slime 
Becomes their thrall for his earthly time, 
Serries his conscience and binds his brain 
To share his mite in the Monsters' gain. 

Who dares to stand in the Monsters' path 
Is sport for the mocking, torrid wrath. 
Whoever is struck by the hissing breath 
Suffers a blight, perchance a death. 

And the sole intent of the Monsters' plan 
Is meat to eat. That meat is man — 
The living man — for the Monster thrives 
On the succulent sap of human lives. 

You sit you down to the needful food, 
And around you sit the unseen Brood. 
One puts his claw on the loaf of bread. 
One cries by beef is his body fed. 
[61] 



I 



and 



ElE=Er^i 



L 



=313E 



zE—EiV^BlE. 



JEIIEE 



3IS2E 



E~HH=^HCSH 






3E= 



SEE 



SEES 



3E= 



One seizes the drink and sips his sup, 
One chips a piece from the plate and cup, 
One claws a clout from the coat you wear, 
One steals a stick from the infant's chair. 



1 



L 



T 



One lessens your light, one cools your fire; 

Ybur sorest need or your least desire 

Is narrowed down to a meaner lot 

By the Brood, though mayhap you know it not. 



r 



J 



By the swaddling cloth of the newest birth. 
By the side of the solemn " earth to earth," 
The Monsters stand and claim a part. 
Cunning of brain and void of heart. 



1Q]E 



3I=]E 



[62] 



EIHE 



3E3E 



J 



EiEir==="l 



~JE 



saiE 



3E 



EH-1E=~= 






We hasten to congratulate the proud parents before the babe has '^ 
time to develop parental characteristics. And yet epitaphs are 
3 nearly as unreliable as birth=prophecies. 

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW 



^^ 



THE poor Old Year is dead. His work is done. 
His course is sped. His last, disloyal Sun 
Fled down the field, with shield upon his back. 
And left the night to pall him in its black. 
His old-time friend, December, turned aside 
And hardly stayed to mark that he had died. 
And all the Weeks, who served his banner, sped 
To serve the New, and cried, "The Old is dead!" 

Yes, even each disdainful, little Day 

Flimg him the hour he owed and shrieked away. 

"The New!" And why the New? Ho, stand you 

forth. 
You little New-come. Say, why is your worth 
Rimg to the zenith with its wave on wave? 
We find you seated on a new-made grave. 
Which holds our friend, the Old Year. He and we 
Shared many joys together. Some there be 
Which still invoke the memory and make 
That fat rogue, Laughter, hold his sides and shake. 

And there are stronger ties, for be it said. 
We sometimes ate together bitter bread. 
Oh, smiling one, too new of life to know 
What friendship roots within a common woe! 

Poor, pale novitiate, how smooth you are! 
Your skin has not the semblance of a scar. 
You should have seen the Old Year! He was one 
Seamed by the winter's wind and summer's sun, 
[63] 



r 



J 



3II1F=^I 



r_™3CE^ 



!L 



..t: — 71 



Torn by the teeth of storm and scorched by fire, 
Leashed in by circumstance, spurred by desire! 

But he is gone, and you are come to reign. 
I do not bow before you, for 'tis plain 
I can not know what purpose lies within 
The soft encompass of your baby skin. 

What have you done? You were not till just now. 
What are you doing? Staring at the bow 
The Earth makes to you. And what will you do? 
Will you avoid the false and seek the true? 
Will you reward the right and ban the wrong? 
Will you protect the weak and curb the strong? 

Ah, little New Year! 'Tis a pretty thing 
To hear the cannons roar and belfries sing 
Because you come to earth, to hear your name 
On every lip, together with the claim 
Of all your happy worth. But there is work. 
Beyond this holiday, you may not shirk. 

Work on, toil on, press on, my little one, 
And when there falls the last December sun. 
Then, when all men turn from you to acclaim 
Another, and a newer, fresher name. 
Then you may have the measure of my praise 
As you have wisely spent your wealth of days. 



;=^J 



[64] 



EC- 



ElE—IE 



E1II3EE 



E3(^IE 



zlBl 



3E 



E3E 



EISI 



EIE 



liU^n 



It is a fine thing to lift one's soul to empyrean heights. It 
also a line thing to dig in the dirt. 

WATCHING GOD GROW 

RE your nerves as a harp for the devil? 
Does he pick at the strings, as he screechily 
sings. 
And ask you to join in his revel? 
Are you barrenly hurried and halted? 
Are you pettily sieged and assavdted? 
Out of doors with you! dig in the yard! 
Be a grub in the garden, a blade in the svsrard! 
There's a blue sky above and a firm earth belovy 
And you're sure of them both as you watch things 
grow. 

Did you feel you were armed and anointed 
To battle some Terror, some hydra-horned Error? 
And now, are you sore disappointed? 
Out of self with you! look through the years 
At the struggles and triumphs and tears, 
And out of the tempests of passion and pride. 
If the victim has lost, yet the victor has died. 
Together they furthered the centuries' flow 
And you're one with them both as you watch men 
grow. 

Is your God but a miimmified man? 

Is the Universe sick? Is Creation a trick, 

A planless and pitiless plan? 

O, look up where the myriad sun-stars are whirled. 

Or, down at your feet, see each atom a world! 

Look backward to Chaos, look forward to Us, 

From an infinite Minus to infinite Plus! 

And whatever of faith or of imfaith you know. 

Yet you're one with it All, as you watch God grow! 



is 



1 



[65] 






li^QE 



3t=lE 



=3ai==~; 



^zeu: 



E=3Ei 



EIEIE 



T 



L 



1 



r 



J 



SONGS 
OF THE EFFICIENT FOLK 

Who does his day's work free of fault, 
Who strives his best and scorns the odds, 

He is the man whom I exalt, 
And crown him level with the gods. 






\^~i[HE 



3BE 



EIBE 



~IJE3E 



EIQ 



J 



-—11^ 



SS=I 



i;i The boaster tells what he did yesterday; the dreamer what he 

will do to=morrow; the efficient man does it to=day. 

ill EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 

I 

To G. K. S., Y. M. C. A. Secretary 

YOU were the type of man of which 
The present offers all too few. 
You thrust aside rewards more rich 
To do the work you chose to do. 
Your palm had not the golden itch; 
There was no dollar-mark on you. 

You laid your course, and held it true, 

Nor follov/ed any narrow plan. 
You held this working world in view. 

Yet kept a little in the van. 
And any one who knew you knew 

You were the measure of a man. 

Your brain was clear, your brow was calm, 
You planned your work, and kept your course. 

You met men with a comrade's palm; 
Your heart and hand knew no divorce. 

In you there was a sort of balm, 
A power rather than a force. 

You flew your flag for those who drown. 

You fought the undertow beneath; 
You sought the service, not the crown; 

You earned, but never asked, the wreath. 
And when the last wave beat you down. 

You gripped your colors in your teeth. 



[69] 



zl^E 



r 






UBE 



SEE 



He Is a bad lawyer who is not better than his taw. 



^ 



L. 



1 






EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 
II 

To B. H. P., an Attorney 

YOU'RE the whitest sort of a mortal, 
And made of the cleanest stuff, 
But a giiard at the legal portal! — 
What man can be clean enough? 

What man is so even-minded 
He may balance another's cause, 

And be servant to Law, unblinded 
By the quibble and quirk of laws? 

But if I were a thief in prison, 
And yours was the plundered place, 

I would send, ere the sun had risen, 
And ask you to take my case. 






[70] 



=il=lB 



=^=1BE 



EltSE 



DQ 



E]E1EE 



L 



Do you ever stop to thank God that there are so many good 
fellows in the world just as clever as you are? 

EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 
III 



Tl 



llksQE 



To M. R. H., an Office-Manager 

DOWN to the office sharp at eight 
You swung, as though a common clerk. 
And if the common one came late. 

You did not chide; he did his work. 
You held your desk the working-day. 

And ran a millionaire concern 
As placid as, behind her tray, 
Mine hostess runs her coffee-urn. 
Yet heaven help the simple shark 
Who picked you for an easy mark. 

As full of wisdom as of wit. 

And ever ready with a joke. 
Your brow was never stubborn-knit 

Nor fretful-raised when others spoke. 
Oh, yes, I've seen your face set hard 

And in your eyes a reddened glow, 
But still your tongue was under guard. 

Your voice came even-tongued and low. 
So, even as you ruled your soul. 
We others bowed to your control. 

Each underling of all our crew 

Was subject to your gentle spell. 
And, though perhaps they never knew. 

You ruled the overlings as well. 
The janitor, the president. 

And every agent on his journey, 

[71] 



=~II~3E 



=3nE 



Ell—IE 



glHpzJl 



rj=J 



J 



-IE 






^F^== 



3[^; 



The office boy om-impudent. 
And even the crinkle-browed attorney. 
Each yielded you the right of way, 
And loved you with a soubriquet. 



=3i^ 



Tl 



□ 



'Tl 



And so within one business cage 

The happy family presided; 
And you, the master of the stage. 

Without one whipping word presided. 
Throned in your whirling office-chair. 

You were a democrat most royal. 
And by your whitened crown we sware. 

And by your love you held us loyal. 
Your kingship was your common sense. 
Robed in your bright benevolence. 



^u 



[72] 



li~EiQr^=~= 



ai~iE 



=E^EE!OE== 



E](~]E 






3BF=^J 



II:S^=]&- 



^EE 






I===r! 



A kingdom is only a larger kitchen, a kitchen a lesser kingdom. 
J Efficiency counts equally in both. 

EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 



. i 



IV 
To a Domestic 

THE " servant problem? " Oh, be jiggered! 
I'd say bejammed, were't not too rough. 
The way I have the question figured, 
The servant problem's plain enough. 
Now hold your breath while I disclose it; 
Your cook's not of you, and — she knows it. 

Too bad domestics should be souled 

And habited like other humans! 
It makes it hard for them to mold 

Their methods to the other woman's. 
This problem's bothered all the race. 
As well as her who " seeks a place." 

Brahman and Sudra can't cohere. 

Greek and barbarian jar each other. 
Turk and Armenian interfere. 

Russian and Jew eat one another. 
Norman and Saxon saved their nation 
With this one word — amalgamation. 

As long as class and caste exist. 

Of heaping laps and empty hands. 
The lower caste will still resist 

With what poor weapons it commands. 
More credit, then, to any lassie 
Who has no class and yet is " classy." 

Then here's a cup — a coffee cup 
(Apologies to cereal mixtures!) — 
[73] 



t^ rnr=-- 



3 {=31^;; 









aaEjsSU 



—ac 



J 



r 



L 






^ 



To Rose, who keeps her kitchen up 

Beyond the parlor's daintier fixtures. 
'Most any time you take a look in, 
Her sink is something you could cook in. 

For wages like a piker's bet 

She runs the house and keeps her station. 
She is not angel-tempered, yet 

She has scant outlet for vexation. 
She does not scrap with other Biddies, 
Nor take it out upon the kiddies. 

Withal she is a diplomat. 

For, void of malice, free of sauce, 

While planning this or doing that. 

She knows just when and whom to boss! 

No statesman ever filled his niche in 

Better than Rose does in her kitchen. 



r 



[74] 



lL,-7ninrr= 



7; , t: S iS 



J 



3E1KF^.I 



[ .■ ■ lE 



'T 



Efficiency is sword and shield in the battle for democracy. Who 
J may deny the right of the man who " makes good ? " 



L 



1 



{==: 



EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 

y 

To Sidney, a Negro Janitor 

YOU do what many fail to do : 
You give your bent back to your task; 
You do your work and see it through. 
What more could anybody ask? 

No pane of yours obscures the sun; 

Your elbow-polish never lacks. 
You do not shirk. You do not shun 

The hidden corners and the cracks. 

Nobody needs to drive or nag; 

You know your work and keep it clear. 
You do not scrimp, you do not lag; 

You make your scrub-brush your career. 

Some shallow men may scoff. Who cares? 

Your work stands square to all attack; 
And you to yours and they to theirs, 

I'll risk my hazard on the black. 

As thorough as an engineer. 

Your work leaves nothing more to add; 
As courtly as a cavalier, 

A janatorial Galahad! 






=][=]G 



[75] 



EIQE 



EE==H5EE]E 






=1 F==^ 



rrr™' 



3r==^ 



DE^ 



EiE 






ElE 



El(~ 



-T!l 



Faiths are very largely definitions, but works — they deGne 
themselves. 



^ 



EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 
VI 

To J. E. H., a Mormon Schoolmaster 



H 



"E saw across the desert waste 

Where hardship warned but duty beckoned. 
Here were young lives, untaught, unplaced, 
With possibilities unreckoned. 



He left the comforts and the aids 
Toward which the modern mortal strives 

And brought these lost-land boys and maids 
His life to help their lesser lives. 

His faith he gives to Joseph Smith; 

His works he gives to humankind. 
To me his miracle is myth 

And strange the habits of his mind. 

But let him hold what faith he please; 

I know a man, whate'er his make; 
I care not where he crooks his knees, 

I grab his honest hand and shake! 



[76] 



L 

Irrr: 



1>^^Q[= 



[.—,-. 



i==1 



Religious labels are a matter of time and place. In Mecca the 
Pope is an " Inffdel." In Salt Lake City a Jew is a " Gentile:' 

EVERYDAY ODES TO EFFICIENCY 
VII 



To R. G. I., an Orator 

TO call him great were futile. He was one 
Who stood beneath the broad day's blazing sun 
Of such heroic mold that all who ran 
Bowed in their hearts and gave their voice, " A 

Man!" 
To call him great were fatuous. Who heard 
The Olympian voice speed forth the winged word. 
Heart-homing, but he tingled with the cry, 
" A master-mortal who shall never die." 
To call him great — the import were but dim 
Unless one owned the magic art of him 
To drench words with the lucidness of light 
And pierce the empyrean with their flight. 

O, have you harbored by the world-wide sea 
And known its greatness? Even so was he. 
The multitudinous movement of the mind. 
The great sweep of the soul which seemed to find. 
Like a great wind, the inmostness of each 
Who breathed the ocean-incense of his speech. 
And over all the sun-glint of the sea. 
And under all the constant depths. Aye, thus was 
he. 

And can the great sea cease? Lo, here we stand 
Beside the emptiness of arid land 
Where yesterday was ocean-sweep and power. 
Think you it was the plaything of an hour. 
Think you the sea no longer ebbs and flows. 
Believe it not, his brothers! Peace; he knows. 
[77] 



L 



esqe; 



e=al 



I .;,.. .- I 



3BT=^\ 



J 



r 



DQE 






L 






r 



J 



SONGS OF A NEWER 
HEAVEN AND BETTER EARTH 

This trouble seems to be 
Chief in theology; 
Each thinks the hymn should be 
" Nearer, my God, to Thee." 






=301= 



DI~IE 



3QtEdl 



•^^JGE^ 



rrcr^^r^j 



"Ti 



We gave up the comforting talk about Hell some time ago. 
Now, we have about given up the talk about Heaven. Why? Be= 
cause we have learned that it better behooves us to learn a little 
about Earth. | 

HEAVEN j^ 

llr=rlb™il T T 7ITH " Credo " on the front door mat. rr===iF=^ 



1 



lt~T=iaE 



WITH " Credo " on the front door mat. 
Our Heaven was once an upper flat, 
Wherein the saints serenely sat. 
Each with a halo for a hat. 

Each sang his bliss without alloy. 
Each sang his most ecstatic joy. 
Knowing the engine-room was jammed 
With legions of the suffering damned. 

Such Heaven was. What Heaven is now. 
Heaven only knows. But, anyhow. 
We may not criticise, because 
Earth still is run as Heaven was. 

Some live like Heaven and idly shirk; 
Some live like Hell, and do the work. 
Is that profanity? Good sooth, 
I wish it were. It's worse; it's truth! 

Will Heaven offer a solace, then. 
For all these miseries of men? 
Not so; Heaven's made, as you and I 
Improve the world we occupy. 

Heaven's an effect and not a cause 
And subject to the eternal laws. 
The primary pupil's simple knowledge 
Is the foundation of the college; 

The higher's founded on the lower, 
Was, is and shall be evermore. 
So, to make Heaven of higher worth. 
Come on! let's make a better Earth! 
[8i] 



slElE 



■ME 



3IS1E 



]ei==2J 



31321:^ 



into every man's life comes a Star — a Star which will lead him, 
if he will follow. If the Wise Men were not wise before, they were 
S wise in this, that they followed their Star. 



L, 



Tl 



L 



THE GIFTS 

THE Wise Men came. The first one leant 
Upon his stout staff, shoulder-bent. 
Deep from his gray face gleamed his eyes. 
And thus his slow voice, worldly-wise: 
" Out of The Past I bring my hoard. 
Within this heap of glitter stored 
Are potent power and luscious ease. 
The wine of life without its lees; 
The coveted of men are these. 
So, with the wisdom of the old, 
I bring the Child the Gift of Gold." 

The second wise man's searching sight 
Leaped outward like a shaft of light: 
" He most is wise who takes to-day. 
Who sings the sunshine while he may. 
Who holds his friend within his heart, 
Who laughs and loves and does his part. 
Who feels the star, who plucks the rose. 
Who sips the sweets of life, who knows 
The Perfume of the Present; hence 
I bring the Gift of Frankincense." 

Then spoke the third whose upraised face 

Looked toward the Future of his race: 

"The world has wealth enough, and yet 

The eyes of Wretchedness are wet; 

The world is beautiful, but still 

The rags and sores of life are ill. 

But who shall know the world's distress 

Who never tastes its bitterness? 

To make him more, I bring him less. 

Sweet is the bitter I confer. 

And so, O Child, the Gift of Myrrh!" 

[82] 



ir 



n^^ 



BE 



=3!=]E 



E!GE 



EI51G 



J 



SlU^Sil 



i 



]aF= 



=][~i 



To-day, the man who asks you to "have something'* respects 
IJ your inclination or disinclination. Let us have as much respectful 
n consideration in thinking as in drinking. 



L 



TOLERANCE 

BEFORE The Tree, with its wide grace spread. 
Where the life pushed up through the tender sod. 
With his out-reached arms and his upraised head, 
He worshiped and called it the Tree of God, 

" O, thou who absorbest the heavenly light 
And even out of the dark gain good, 
O, teach me how to attain thy might. 
For I am but flesh, while thou art wood! 

** Thou hast drawn from heaven its rain and sun, 
Thou hast gripped the earth; they are thine, O Tree! 
Thou art firm and true and thou yield'st to none. 
While the proudest of men must come to thee. 

" Dark lay thy life in the under-gloom. 
But it mounted aloft at the Easter-tide; 
Even so shall thy worshiper burst his tomb 
And in death he shall not have died," 

I marveled much that a man should pray — 
Aye, a brain-big man. like you and me. 
Should stand in the glare of a modem day 
And symbol his god by a common tree. 

Yet under The Tree fell a gold-flecked light. 
Fell softer than any cathedraled hue. 
And the murmuring hush of a prayer in flight 
Stirred the leaves as it fluttered through. 



[83] 



^=1G[= 



EII~IE 



]□[= 



EII—IE 



■lUl 






r 



J 



JP^^ 



And somewhere, snug in an upper limb. 

Half disclosed by the breeze, part seen, part guessed, 

I could fancy the half -fledged cherubim 

Peeping over the edge of a nest. 



Lr:^^ 



So should I scoff past with a hardened tread 
That this worshiper's creed is not for me? 
Nay, let me pause and uncover my head. 
As I pass by, under his Tree. 



I 



=-jn™!j 



'M 



IJ^QEEE^E^^ElEEIti 



aa i .i|ii'r l '». ^JUtadl lg 






In a large sense a man to=day may be a Christian, no matter 
what his creed or creedlessness. Does it not seem as if the word 
" Christian " had largely ceased to be a religious word and had be= 
come a social one? 



L, 



DEFINITION OF A CHRISTIAN 

'HAT is a Christian? Come! forget the book 
and the text-divining, 
Forget the metes and the bounds of faiths; we have 

come to a new defining. 
Forget the Christian who died the death for the 

faith he esteemed his Maker's, 
And the Christian who hackled heretics and who 
cheerfully quartered Quakers. 

Never mind the confessional Christian you may 

classify with a label. 
But what is your test of the Christian you invite 

to your family table? 
Never mind the communicant Christian whom you 

kneel beside Easter morning. 
Who's the man you indorse for the rest of the year, 

nor qualify with a warning? 

You know your anointed, crucified Christ who is 
glorified on Sundays, 

iBut are you so sure of the Village Jew of the Satur- 
days and Mondays? 

He, who came fresh-eyed to the Jewish town with 
its bickerings and its barter, 

(A model we haven't improved much yet in our 
latest city charter!) 

What is a Christian? Give us him, whatever his 

churchly rating. 
Whom we may trust in the market, unwatched and 

unhesitating. 

[85] 



=]Si[= 






r' ll 



L, 



^ 



L 



Give us the man who pays his debts in the spirit he 

makes collections 
And we're willing to make some allowance for the 

lack of his genuflections. 

The man who gives us the best he's got in his work- 
ing as well as thinking. 

The man who can stand in the light of a throne, 
unexultant and unblinking; 

The man who respects his fatherhood as a maiden 
her virginity; 

For the man who is true to a woman — well, we'll 
trust him with the Trinity! 

Give us the man who toes the mark and who takes, 

if he must, his beating. 
And we do not ask what his tally is at the mid-week 

evening meeting. 
Give us the man who stands for self no more than 

he stands for All, 
And we do not ask how his hymns arise, nor how 

his responses fall. 

In the chancel you may define him still by doc- 
trinal text and article. 

But down in the town where you buy and sell, you 
consider them not one particle. 

Call him what you will when the church-bells chime, 
but the twentieth century fact is 

He's your Real Definition of " Christian " in your 
regular everyday practice. 



[86] 



^E 



J 



□E 



Ui^iC 



]EE 



3E3E 



DQ 



J 



r^SII 



^ 



It is difficult to conceive that a Creator should take the 
trouble to create us. Yet without a Creation, what were a Cre= 
m ator? 



L 



A CONCEPTION OF GOD 

HOW glibly, how greasily man says " God," 
Yet the wisest savant is the merest clod 
Whose mind cannot compass this handful of sod 
From his own little earth. Here it is, newly- 
grassed; 
Every grain of its sand is molecular-massed; 
Every blade is an epic, serene, unsurpassed; 
Every cell of its life holds a secret so vast 
That the mind staggers back at the riddle aghast. 
As a grain of this sand to its planet, so, too. 
Is our earth to the tangle of suns in our view. 
And beyond? And beyond ! Man must ever despond 
To pronounce any word save another "Beyond!" 
Aye, we scan and we search, we dispute and discuss. 
But Infinity still is Beyond, with a Plus! 
Our star, in a streak of the sky, merely floats 
As a speck in the sunbeam, a mote among motes. 
Swarming round on this mote is the infinitesimal 
Insect too small to express by a decimal, 
Myriad-ciphered. Its place in the plan 
We can only conjecture; we call it a man. 
Yet this germ of humanity crinkles his knees 
And, with orotund voice and nominal " Please," 
Cajoles the Omnipotent, salving his views 
With some second-hand praise and some gossipy 

news. 
And flattered Infinity then is requested 
To alter His Plan thus and so, as suggested! 

If Infinity's Microscope sees him the while. 
Let us hope that Infinity knows how to smile. 



r 



1 F=^ 



[87] 



u. 



□E 



E3[~J!== 



E3DE 



3l=]E 



E=:^3E]I^SJ 



r 



We differ a little when we define out faiths, 
great deal when we don't define them. 

FAITH 



IJ==i r 



1 



SiJ 
Bat we differ a (Ij 

I 



THE Cosmos is infinite. I am a part 
0£ the Cosmos, its head and its heart. 
If God include All, shall he not compass Me? 
If He is, then I am. If I am, is not He? 
No matter how infinitesimal I, 
I am one with infinity. Why should I cry 
I am nothing, if nothingness still may include 
The desire and the dream of an Infinitude? 
I am small? Be it so. But I also am great 
While my smallness is part of God's ample Estate. 



r--~>[s 



[88] 



ll^EJE 



E]I~]C 



EIIHE 



?lF=n r== 



HIGlJ 



fr^l 



=3tB 



^□lE 



3E 






There are some religionists who affect such an intimacy with 
Deity that one is surprised that they do not call Him by his given 



name. 



^ 



L, 



DOUBT 

WHEN the Unseeable is shown, 
When the Unthinkable is thought, 
When the Unknowable is known, 
Then say " God is," or " God is not,'- 



=3[~]^ 



IS9I 



3aE= 



^J^E^EE— 



r 






EiaF~'i 



£=]E 



^ !- ' "— - : ■— :=inp^ 



:h]E 



Grace became obsolete when it grew to be as meaningless as 
street=car poetry. It saluted the sense daily, but no one heeded it. 
Yet a fine, high sentiment to unify the family mind three times a 
day ought plainly to be worth while. 



N' 



GRACE 

' OW may this grateful bread we break 
Bless each and all as we partake. 
So may its nourishment renew 
The warm blood in a wholesome brew, 
So may the flood which fills each vein 
Strengthen the body, build the brain; 
So may the freshened brain be brought 
To yield us bright and happy thought. 
So may the thought be constant still 
To make the strong and steadfast will. 
So may the will take kindly heed 
To bring the generous, gentle deed. 

Thus, by the miracle of food 
Are daily life and love renewed, 
And so our daily bread we bless 
And speak these words of thankfulness. 



r 



[go] 



i 

I 
J 



]II5F=r! 



.,■-" -^riG 



EIE= 



r 



A prayer is a poem, valuable tor inspiration and for aspiration, 
but neither of them are very valuable unless you work them out 
with perspiration. 

PRAYER 

OOME people think prayer is a telephone, 
jjj O A patent transmitter to hire or own. 

And at every hint of a small desire, 
They call up the busy Central wire 
To plug into the Great White Throne. 



Some people think prayer is an elevatoTj 
A sort of an automatic waiter. 
Eternally ready, supernally swift. 
To pick them up and give them a lift. 
Whenever they signal the Operator. 

Some people think prayer is a kind of kite, 

A little erratic as yet in flight. 

And consequently it isn't claimed 

That it always reaches the spot where aimed, 

But it carries the message up all right. 

Some people think prayer is a flying-machine. 
Impressive in power, but inclined to careen. 
And if any part of the motor snaps 
The whole thing falls in a huge collapse. 
With your wrecked hopes somewhere in between. 

But maybe prayer is a road to rise, 

A mountain path leading toward the skies 

To assist the spirit who truly tries. 

But it isn't a shibboleth, creed, nor code; 

It isn't a pack-horse to carry your load; 

It isn't a method; it's only a road. 

And perhaps the reward of the spirit who tries 

Is not the goal, but the exercise! 

[91] 



1 



i t=Jl 



E]£~I(= 



E-IEE 



El^E 



um 



r 



3t3CE~; 






^G 



Sl^fl 



Your own belief is the best possible belief (for you) provided 
it is yours. 

YOURS 



1 






A THOUSAND cults and a thousand creeds; 
Is one a rose and the rest but weeds? 
Or is each one suited to meet some needs? 
Is your own so great that the rest seem small? 
Then keep it and live it; that's all. 

Pagan or Christian, Gentile or Jew, 
How else may you know that Your Own is true. 
Not for him or for me, or for others, but you? 
To live by, to die by, to stand or to fall? 
How? Keep it and live it; that's all. 

When the wolves of the world are upon your track. 
Does it help you to beat the mad horde back. 
And to laugh at the snap of the snarling pack? 
Does it leap to your heart like a huntsman's call? 
Then keep it and live it; that's all. 

When the strong are cruel and the weak oppressed, 
Does it help you to help? Does it sting your breast? 
Does it sob in your soul with a wild unrest? 
Will it fight against might and let nothing appall? 
Then keep it and live it; that's all. 

When the last fight comes and you make your stand, 
When the sword of your strength breaks out of 

your hand, 
When the earth below turns to shifting sand, 
Does it sing! when your back is against the wall? 
Then keep it; it's yours and that's All. 



[92] 



r 



I 






~}S~}E 



=^E]SE~H; 



3E~JE 



-EiBt 



r' 



i~j 



]f==1EEiJl 



SONGS 
OF TIME AND PLACE. 

Life is a comedy to watch, a tragedy to play; 
To-morrow they shall sob the lines who 
smile thereat to-day. 



•~™~]HE^i™^ES3!=]ErSEE~H~3a 



J 



?,'1SIES 



"rnnr=--"--~^ 



U a man kills beasts for business, he is a butcher and a vulgar 
fellow. If he kills birds for pleasure, he is a sportsman and a 
gentleman. If be kills men for he knows not what, be is a hero 
and a patriot. 



T 



CHESAPEAKE AND SHANNON 

(1813) 

HE market price of a battle won is ever a bat- 
tle lost. 
And the one who pays for the other's bays is the 

one who counts the cost. 
We have sung wild songs when the wine of war in 

Victory's glass was sweet, 
And well may sing of the bitter sting in the dregs 
of the cap. Defeat. 

"A flaunting, taunting strip of red 
Flies at our harbor's mouth," they said. 
The " Shannon's " standing off and on outside of 

Boston light, 
A challenge for the " Chesapeake," and the " Chesa- 
peake " shall fight. 
So it's ho, boys, 

for the foe, boys, 

and God protect the right! 
And from the hills along the coast, 
There watched an anxious, hoping host. 

The " Shannon " casts her dice of death ; 
The waiting hilltops hold their breath. 
For sailing under Lawrence is a husband, lover, son, 
A scabbard for a cutlass and a target for a gun. 
Now a broadside 

for God's side 

and direful work is done. 
Hark! how its tardy thunder spills 
Reverberations round the hills. 
[95] 



L 



[p^ 



l"==1E][S^ 



J 



I 



EIC 



3[== 



331= 



deh:^^ 



I 



01 



The smoke-cloud settles on the bay 
And veils the carnage of the day. 
Undying words are crying from a hero's dying lip, 
"Fire faster! fight her till she sinks, and don't give 

up the ship ! " 
And it's shout orders, 

"Away boarders!" 

or victory will slip. 
And cheers ring out from hold to truck. 
For one ship — ah, but which? — has 
struck. 

O, God of battles! can it be. 
The ships are putting out to sea? 
Woe, helpmeet of your husband; woe, mother of 

your son! 
What are a hundred battles gained to the love you 

lost in one? 
And the noon-day 

of a June day 

cries curses to the sun. 
For dead and dying, bond and free 
Are on those ships which put to sea! 

The market price of a battle won is always a battle 

lost. 
And the one who pays for the other's bays is the 

one who counts the cost. 
We have sung wild songs when the wine of war in 

Victory's glass was sweet. 
And well may sing of the bitter sting in the dregs of 

the cup, Defeat. 



JDE 



32~l[= 



[96] 



smE 



r — :i 



)_il 



EKSG 



IQt^ 



p=i 



SIG 



EltE 



=]GE 



^(^ 



3E~ 



=][— 



L 



Against a black background a white deed shines the brighter. 
Out of the Pit itself there may flash some diamond of light. 

WILLIAM BROWN OF ARGENTINE 
(1816) 



1 



AMONG the deeds of heroes is the deed o£ Wil- 
liam Brown, 
A man who fought the Spanish when the Spanish 

power went down, 
A man who fought the Spanish when the Spanish 

power prevailed, 
A man of Irish blood and birth, whose courage 

never quailed. 
The patriots held Argentine, although their power 

was new. 
While the Spanish power was strongest in the prov- 
ince of Peru, 
So round the Horn sailed William Brown, and at 

his peak were seen 
The stripes of blue and white which make the flag 

of Argentine. 

He captured merchant prizes at the mouth of 
Spanish ports. 

He drove Callao's gunboats to the shelter of the 
forts, 

But not these common deeds of war were fitting to 
reveal 

The hero in the man who fought — and lost— at 
Guayaquil; 

Who lost, but in his losing left an act to contra- 
vene — 

None nobler ever done beneath the flag of Argen- 
tine. 



[97] 



Jsat= 



=]|^]E 



3Eli~ 



atS'E 



3E 






r 



ij 



j=]l 



EIE 



DDG 



ElE 



=IE 



=][ 



L 



T! 



In eighteen hundred ten and six his little fleet Uore 

down 
Upon the forts and batteries which armed the 

Spanish town. 
Then water warred against the land and gun replied 

to gun; 
One fort, one battery succumbed; the day seemed 

nearly won. 
And on the " Trinidad " there stood, with visage 

calm but keen, 
The commodore who fought beneath the flag of 

Argentine. 

But now came reenforcement to the Spaniard — one 

which bore 
Upon the gallant "Trinidad" and drove her on the 

shore. 
Up swarmed the Spanish infantry, rejoicing at the 

squall. 
Which gave them all they failed to win with powder 

and with ball. 
And though no braver man than Brown e'er wore 

the Irish green, 
Down came the white and azure of the flag of 

Argentine. 

Surrendered was the ship, but not surrendered was 

the man; 
Back to the stern he made his way, disrobing as he 

ran. 
One moment shines his body in the light, and 

then — eclipse ! 
And the commodore is swimming to the second of 

his ships. 
When hark! the sound of slaughter — curses, cries 

and shots between! 
They slay the men who fought beneath the flag of 

Argentine ! 



[98] 



^ 



r 



ji 



i~]raE 



ilIslE 



DQE 



E]I=}E 



IQIsi 



I 



l!===]t=i= 



EIQG 



Elli 



ElE 



What can he do to save them? Shall he leave them 

to their fate? 
No! not one quivering instant does the brave Brown 

hesitate. 
He buffets back, he climbs aboard, he scurries down 

the hatch, 
'He rushes to the magazine, he grasps a flaming 

match. 
Appalled, the Spaniards see him stand above the 

magazine; 
" Respect," he cries, " the laws of war and the flag of 

Argentine! " 



^ 



r 



n==J 



Was ever stranger sight than this? The wild wolves 

at their prey. 
One man come back from safety to bid their 

slaughter stay, 
Unarmored and unarmed, and yet he dares to give 

commands. 
And see! the Spaniards heed him and stay their 

bloody hands. 
O gallant, gallant was the deed by which this naked 

Thor 
Turned beasts to men and victims into prisoners of 

war! 
All honor to the man who risked his all to intervene. 
Who stepped ashore clad only in the flag of Argen- 
tine! 



199] 



l==ini 



r](=][= 



EICIE 



3I~JE 



SB 



J 



Tf=SS}\ 



ElE 



SEE 



3DE 



=2iB 



zlB 



™JI~ 



Can a Nation sow nettles and thorns abroad and reap roses and 
wheat at home? 



1 



SHOOT HIM DOWN! 

(February, 1899) 

AYE, beat the Filipino back. 
"All men are equal born and free" 
Was only said for you and me. 
We learned that speech when, tooth to tooth, 
We tore the mother of our youth. 
We emphasized it v/hen we poured 
Our brother's blood 
In living flood 

And plowed his cities with the sword. 
And shall the Filipino dare 

Our dear-bought, much-mouthed words to share? 
No! beat him back! 

Aye, shoot the Filipino down. 
He is a rascal and a thief, 
For he would steal our loved belief 
In Freedom and the Rights of Man. 
What! shall an upstart, basebred clan 
Mimic immortal Henry's breath 
And filch the fame 
From that great name 
By crying "Liberty or death?" 
Shall we not mock his mocking voice 
And grant the second of his choice? 
Aye, shoot him down! 

Aye, run the Filipino through. 
How can his ignorance possess 
Life, liberty and happiness? 
What can a foolish tribesman know. 
Who pits his naked spear and bow 
[100] 



r 



J 



'fe=IT3C 



S3E==;~" 



iikisrsHfi 



^E£== 



—inii^ 



■=i£^~2 



31- 



Against the Death-on-land-and-sea? 

What futile school 

Has taught the fool 

The fatal word of Liberty? 

Lo! God is with us and our guns; 

Pile up his bleeding flesh in tons. 

So beat him back! 

And shoot him down! 

And run him through! 



3EE 



r 






[lOl] 



=S=3BS=^ 



r 



31^ 



ElE 



3BC 



EI EH 



3E 



I ■■■; ' ; 



It is so much easier to give a stone to those who are dead than [j] 
bread to those who die. |] 



m 



□ 



INDIA 
(1900) 

THE famine! famine! famine! 
The writhing eye, the soul-sick qualms, 
The upturned, thin, transparent palms. 
The tongue too dry to ask for alms; 
The new-born babe without a cry. 
The mother with her dull-dead eye; 
No wish to live, no power to die. 

And famine! famine! famine! 

The famine! famine! famine! 
The bones bagged in the putrid skin. 
The torture of the rack within. 
The death's-head and the mocking grin; 
The foul corpse sickening every sense, 
The living scarce a less offense, 
All words a lying impotence 

For famine! famine! famine! 

O Britain! Britain! Britain! 
Why dost thou rather slay than save? 
Why speeds thy treasure on the wave 
To feed instead of foil the grave? 
What is the God thou strivest to please? 
Wouldst thou have war? Then war with these: 
The Hxinger Wolf! her Whelp, Disease! 

And Famine! Famine! Famine! 



[102] 






E][=]E 



=]E]E 



ElI—IE 



3EIF=r!l 



r 



F=^ 



1==^' 



riQEE 



=][= 



^ 



Victory is not the final test. No more is defeat. Men and Na- p 
tions must be tried by both before we can determine their quality. || 



L 



1 A 



THE VICTORS 

(May, 1902) 

CHEER for the Briton who wins the fight, 
A crown for the king, a plume to the knight, 
And a hand to the hardy yeoman; 
A cheer to the Briton who wins, but yields 
The fields to the men and the men to the fields. 
For he is a generous foeman. 

But a greater cheer for the broken Boer, 
Who stood to his guns when defeat was sure 

And the world looked on unheeding; 
Who found in the courts of the earth no friend. 
Yet struggled on to the bitter end. 

Breathless, beaten and bleeding. 

Aye, a cheer goes up for the men who win 
And the drum and the cannon long shall din 

Their riotous celebrations, 
But a deeper cheer for the men who choose 
In liberty's cause to fight and lose! 

For of such is the hope of the nations. 



r 



J 



[103] 



L. 



E][=]E 



=]□[= 



](=]E 



J 



3GF=^I 



!r 



IE 



3C 



DI= 



^□[^= 



rlG 



^^ 



Oar mental vision suffers from " far=sightedness.' 
the world we can see injustice quite clearly. 



Half across 



L. 



=1 



AT THE CZAR'S WINDOW 
(January 22, 1905) 

^^ TT THAT do ye see, my lords of war? 

VV What do ye see, for I may not look? " 
"The hounds are loosed of the leash, great czar. 
And the game is brought to book." 

"What do ye see, my lords of state? 

What do ye see that your brows are low?" 
" Nothing, O sire ! but a nation's hate 

And the blood-blotch on the snow." 

"What dost thou see, my queen, my queen? 

What dost thou see, that your eyes are wide?" 
"Nay, God forgive me the sight I've seen 

And save their souls, who died! " 

"What do ye see, my daughters all? 

And what do they bear who make such din?" 
"Boxes, dear father, and some so small 

Little brother might lie therein." 

"What dost thou see, thou heir-of-our-race. 
Who shall sit the throne when I shall die?" 

But the infant looks in his father's face 
And his voice is a wailing cry! 



[104] 



QE 



Elt—HH 



EIQE 



3(=][ 



■ ' "" 






ir 



]Elp=a| 



3E^~= 



EBQ(~ 



Dl^ 



Tl 



None of the recent wars has produced a war=hero who lasted 
J over night. Yet, contradictorily enough, the wars produced one 



hero who has lasted. 



l==n r 



=1 



nr^] 



THE RED CROSS NURSE 

'HE men who sailed to sink their lives within the 
Merrimac, 

The rough and ready riders in their resolute attack. 
Brave De Wet and his bold burghers sticking to their 

stubborn ground 
In the face of all the forces of an empire world 

around. 
Tommy Atkins storming kopjes where the Mauser's 

viper ed breath 
Was as sudden as the lightning and as pitiless as 

death, 
The Yellow Yankees of the East who cowed the 

Russian bear. 
As, heedless of his sullen growls, they drove him to 

his lair; 
The Russians, at Chemulpo, with two ships against a 

fleet. 
Flags afloat and bands a-crashing, sailing out to sure 

defeat; 
These were subjects for our stories, these were 

heroes of our verse, 
But now we sing one stanza for the Red Cross army 

nurse. 

She was in the foremost battle, she was in the rear- 
most tents. 

She wore no weapon of attack, no armor of defense. 

Than the bravest she was braver, than the truest 
she was truer, 

She asked not if the soldier struck for Briton or for 
Boer. 

[105] 



r 



J 



L 



□c 



EIIEEIE 



3SE 



EIC~]E 



]□[— J 



r 



■iG 



EI[E 



"313 [T^ 



ElE 



L 



1 



Though he fell beneath the stars and stripes or the 

yellow and the red. 
She was mother to the wounded, she was sister to the 

dead. 
And again, though white or yellow was the skin, she 

did not heed; 
'Twas not hers to ask "What nation?" only hers to 

ask " What need? " 
And many a stricken hero choked his sullen, bitter 

curse 
And smoothed it to a blessing for the Red Cross 

army nurse. 

Work on, O noble army and the crown of crowns be 
yours! 

Not always shall destruction be the glory which 
endures. 

It is coming, it is coming, you are helping on the day 

When we learn the greater glory is to succor — not 
to slay. 

It is coming, it is coming, you are aiding it along. 

When we hold the feeblest nation to be potent as 
the strong; 

It is coming, it is coming, you are bringing it to pass, 

When the ships shall shed their armor and the for- 
tresses be glass! 

But in the weary waiting-time till armaments dis- 
perse. 

Our blessing on that flower of war — the Red Cross 
army nurse! 



|lL=n rnr= 



2C™3ES 



[io6] 



==ir.r= 



^E 



r 



I I. i!l 



~l!^3E 



=yrtr=^ 



ilE 



31^ 



3BC 



3Ci 



ElE 



Bat this is the naked and shameless truth: We are shocked by 
a great disaster only because of its spectacular concreteness. The 
sweatshop and the cotton mill eat of our children and the newS" 
papers run no scare-heads. 

THE LONG SILENCE 



^ 



^ 



(March, 1908) 

(Commemorating the fire catastrophe at Collinwood, 
where 174 school children lost their lives.) 

THERE are sorrowful words when the soldier 
falls 
From out of the firing line; 
There are fitting words when the Long Watch calls 

To the sailor out on the brine. 
But what are the words which a man may speak, 

Which are other than vainest breath, 
In the silence of these — the little and weak — 
Who have played the game with Death? 

For Horror has hidden her eyes in fright. 

And Terror has stopped her ears, 
And Solace stands dumb at the ghastly sight. 

And her only words are tears. 
For what is the form which Pity may own 

In a pitiless hour like this. 
When these mothers- are sitting alone — alone. 

With their babies they may not kiss? 

Oh, what to them is the sounding word. 

And what is the poet's page? 
And what all the wisdom written and heard 

By prophet and priest and sage? 
They are dust and dross, they are straw and chaff; 

Can they lighten the sightless eye? 
Can they bring back one little lightsome laugh. 

Or one little wistful cry? 
[107] 



r 



Ji 



IQE 



E]I=1E 



EIQE 



J 



3[3r=^i 



p 



L, 



Tl 



And who would mock a motherly grief 

By telling her Death is rest? 
And who v/ould rack her stricken belief 

By asserting that God knows best? 
For bone of her bone and flesh of her heart 

Is the form which lies unheeding. 
And God himself may not tear them apart 

And ask that there be no bleeding. 



^ 



r 



J 



We can only reach our hands, as prayers, 

To the hands which blindly grope; 
We can only mingle our tears with theirs, 

For in grief alone is hope. 
And we clasp our own little loves, unclaimed 

By the shadow of dark distress. 
And blush that we are not more ashamed 

Of our kisses of thankfulness. 



[io8] 



.'==riaE 



ElI^lE 



ESQE 



E]B[= 



==i 



iiaF=^l 






War is hell! " we cry, being proud of our equipment to make n 



more bell. 



^ 



THE FLEET 
(April, igo8) 

THIS is the song of the thousand men who are 
multiplied by twelve, 
Sorted and sifted, tested and tried, and muscled to 

dig and delve. 
They come from the hum of city and shop, they come 

from the farm and field, 
And they plow the acres of ocean now, but tell me, 
what is their yield? 

This is the song of the sixteen ships to buffet the 

battle and gale. 
And in every one we have thrown away a Harvard 

or a Yale. 
Behold here the powers of Pittsburg, the mills of 

Lowell and Lsmn, 
And the furnaces roar and the boilers seethe, but tell 

me, what do they spin? 

This is the song of the long, long miles from Hamp- 
ton to the Horn, 

From the Horn away to the western bay whence our 
guns are proudly borne. 

A flying fleet and a host of hands to carry these 
rounds of shot! 

And behold they have girdled the globe itself, and 
what is the gain they have brought? 

This is the song of the wasters — well, defenders, if 

you please. 
Defenders against our fellows, with their wasters 

even as these, 

[109] 



II—IBE 



=]C^!E= 



3EIEE 



3I=1E 



r^E 



IL= 



Tl 



ziUE 



ElE 



For we stumble still at the lesson taught since ever 

the years were young, 
That the chief defense of a nation is to guard its own 

hand and tongue. 

This is the song of our folly, that we cry out a glad 

acclaim 
At our slaughtering-ships, in the shadow of which 

we should bow our heads in shame. 
That we clap applause, that we cry hurrahs, that we 

vent our unthinking breath. 
For oh, we are proud that we flaunt this flesh in 

the markets of dismal death. 



f===I 



This is the song of our sinning (for the fault is not 

theirs, but ours). 
That we chain these slaves to our galley-ships as 

the symbol of our powers; 
And we call men brave who on land and wave fear 

not to die, but still. 
Still first on the rolls of the world's brave souls are 

the men who have feared to kill. 



l^QE 



[no] 



E][=]E 



DEIE 



E]|^}E 



EIQS 



™]E 



SHE 



Eltrrrri 



^ 



L 



r 



Three classes of people love to gewgaw themselves and pretend 

y to be what they are not: barbarians, children — and the rest of us. 
B 

CORONATION 

(June, 191 1 ) 

THEY have crowned you, George of England, 
they have crowned you, 
Pompous peers and courtly cousins all around you. 
And your course of empire runs 
Round the earth in endless suns 
And in ermine and in purple they have gowned you. 

Scepters of the empired earth around you cluster; 

Crowns and coronets are met in mighty muster. 

But beyond them and around. 

Look you to the kings uncrowned. 

Lest the bauble on your brow shall lose its luster. 

Where the furnace breathes its swooning breath and 

torrid. 
Where the mine secretes its poison, foul and horrid, 
Mark the man of lowly birth 
Toiling for his loved of earth 
With a beaded crown above his grimy forehead. 

Where the tenemented tribe in subjugation. 
Herded, hounded by the Jailor of Privation, 
Here the Woman of your race. 
Huddled in her squalid place. 
Must renew the life to make a lusty nation. 

George of England, with the diadem above you. 
Would you make your crown and country for and of 

you? 
Crown you then these uncrowned lives. 
Slaving husbands, famined wives, 
And the ages yet to be shall learn to love you. 
[Ill] 



□E 



E](=]E 



DQE 



3I3E 



zlB 



J 



= ~3E 



Ell- 



30E 



EIE 



3I~Hin 



The blind forces of Nature are the playthings of man, unless he 
becomes their Plaything. Is Humanity itself a blind force, or 
may it learn to see? 



1 



1 



WAGE OF THE SLAVE 
(1913) 

WHEN Prometheus filched the heavenly fire 
2ind brought it down to man, 
Man, too, became a Titcui and his upward course 

began. 
He made a slave of the sluggish Earth that his chil- 
dren might be fed 
And a slave of the wanton Water to grind his corn 

to bread. 
He made a slave of the Forest to hold him safe from 

the storm 
And he prisoned the Fire in a comer cell and bade 

it keep him warm. 
Aye, slaves he made of them one and all, as ever he 

will and must. 
Or else they will drive him unto death and grind his 

bones to dust. 

Then one wed Fire to the Water and gave a new 

slave birth. 
That a man may touch a lever and ride to the ends 

of earth. 
He tore dead ages out of the past to banish the 

dark of night. 
That a child may snap his finger and thiunb and a 

quick slave brings him light. 
He trained the Lightning out of the sky to dance 

on a thread, and so 
A baby at play with a button may bid it " Come ! " 

or "Go!" 
Aye, the very strength which holds the stars is slave 

to his feeble flesh, 

[112] 









I^^IBE 



=lf=lE 



3E1E 



E1{=]E 



J 



■iaF==^ 



I i 



And ever the slaves stand ready, stand ready, eager 
and fresh. 



^ 



IL, 



^ 



And over the Water man set the Stone to hold him 

into the race, 
And he set the Water over the Fire to scourge her 

into her place. 
And he set the Air-slave over the Steam and the 

Lightnings fiercest of all. 
Was chained to the sluggish, stolid earth, like a serf 

to his chain and ball. 
And each against each he has set them, and keeps 

them forever and aye. 
Yet his master-eye must be on them, for if ever he 

turn away, 
By a sudden sweep of the lightning's leap, by the 

fiends of fire and flood. 
By the hissing death of the steam's hot breath, they 

will feast upon his blood. 

And is this all of the lesson? Or is it the primer 

page? 
Does not the world spread a chapter for the eyes of 

a thinking age? 
Is not Humanity driven? Is not Humanity bound? 
Are not men prisoned by Class and Caste? Are not 

their faces ground? 
Must they who never labor on the tongues of larks 

be fed? 
And they who labor forever, be bound by a bite of 

bread? 
Are men as the driven forces to be prisoned in tube 

and wire? 
Shall we use the force as a favor and shall we for- 
get — the fire? 



I 



[113] 



L 



}E1E 



E3C3E 



EIQE 



EIt=]G 



=1B 



J 



r 



=][= 



SHE 



1 



When you meet a beggar in the shadow of the Waldorf "As" 
toria, pause and wonder, is he a vanishing Vandal, or is he a com' 
ing Hun? 



ll=s?tr= 



1 



THE "WORKER" 

(To-day) 

44 O AY, Mister, gimme the price of a meal? 
l3 I'm lonesome inside my shirt. 
Oh, I know this sounds like a regular spiel. 
But my stomach sure feels hiu-t. 

"For nothin' has come our way to-day 
And I just struck town, by freight; 
Of course I could come it the hand-out way, 
But I don't like the game so late, 

"'Cause the women always get kind of sore, 
When you strike 'em after dark, 
And the man is at home and he makes a roar 
And he isn't as soft a mark. 

"How old? Eighteen. Oh, yes, I'm small, 
But I wish I was smaller. Gee! 
These husky bos don't get by at all. 
Where it comes pretty soft for me. 

"Will I eat with you? You win in a walk. 
Any chuck-joint suits me, bo. 
I can put down steak and put up talk 
Best of any gink you know. 

" It's been four years since I eat a meal 
With a napkin under my chin. 
But there was a time when I knew the feel 
Of a white rag next to my skin. 

[114] 



i^ElE 



-lE^IE 



EIQE 



SI^IE 




iIQlsril 



'Tl 



"Yes, it's just four years since I hit the pike, 

For I hadn't no place to stay. 
When all of us fellers went out on strike. 

When the nail-mills cut our pay. 

" For my father had tagged another skirt 
And my mother had — well, you know; 
It isn't my job to be throwin' dirt 
At the old girl, is it, bo? 

" So I jumped the town and here I am. 
And here you are, — with the price! 
Coffee for me and a half a ham. 

With the eggs flopped over twice. 

"Don't I ever work? Why, sure I do. 
I worked on a job last year, 
And I work the guys like I'm working you. 
And I work the bars for beer. 

" I had a job in a hashteraunt. 

But the dish-washin' made me quit. 
For the honestest bo must come to want 
If he loses his horny mit. 

" They handed me six for slingin' the rag 

And charged me five for chuck. 

And that's what you get for bein' a vag. 

Or a tourist down on your luck. 

"Will I quit some day? When I break a leg! 
Say, why should I quit my beats? 
I'm a good square bo and I never yegg 
And I reckon I earns my eats. 

"And I work my way. Ain't it worth the ride 
When I freeze on the Pullman top? 
Would the lazy lobsters ridin' inside 
Be game for a steel-roof flop? 
[115] 



lr=iaG 



^ 



□ 



r 



J 



i]I=]G 



3 HIE 



EIISE 



ElQs! 



r 



L, 



Tl 



Ell— 



ElE 



£JE£S 



3E 



3E 



EIC^ 



"When I ride the rods, with my board across, 
Or the brake-beams, huggin' the wheels, 
Is the Harriman widow a-sufferin' loss, 
Or the Vanderbilts missin' meals? 

" Yep, I play the game, if I am a vag, 
And I never put up much fight, 
When the brakey bumps me onto the slag; 
For it's his job right-all-right. 

"What, pie? Say, bo, it's hurtin' my heart 
To be eatin* you down to your duds. 
You're a prince, all right, and you look the part. 
Could you stand me a bucket of suds? 

" 'Cause because of you, I'm a-quittin' the road 
And I want to wet my luck. 
Aw, quit your josh: I can carry a load 
That would buckle a two-horse truck. 

"But I'm goin' to quit like you heard me tell. 
If I have to hustle a hod, 
Fer as sure as there is a God in — hell! 
Who said that there was a God? " 



r 



ji 



[ii6] 



=E==1F=1E 



iiur^ 



EKE 



L][ 






S3E 






3ar== 



INDEX 

Page 

A Conception of God 87 

At the Czar's Window 104 

But We Did 23 

Chesapeake and Shannon 95 

Coronation iii 

Definition of a Christian 85 

Doubt 89 

Each for All 14 

Everyday Odes to Efficiency 

I To G. K. S., Y. M. C. A. Secretary 69 

II To B. H. P., an Attorney 70 

III To M. R. H., an Office Manager 71 

IV To a Domestic 73 

V To Sidney, a Negro Janitor 75 

VI To J, E. H., a Mormon Schoolmaster. 76 

• VII To R. G. I., an Orator , 77 

Faith 88 

Father 42 

Grace .- 90 

Heaven 81 

He Might Have Been Somebody 35 

India 102 

Labor 54 

Lincoln and Lee 12 

Prayer 91 

Ocean 49 

Shoot Him Down! 100 

Somebody Calls It Home 37 

Thanksgiving 56 



Ti 



r 



ac 



U^E 



DOE 



=}|^1G 



UB 



J 






r" 



1 1 — I I . r 



/^ 



===J L _-rr^ f==========in f==========:=^ — i f== 

Page 

The Child 52 

The Declaration , . . 26 

The Fleet 109 

The Gifts 82 

The Hunter 50 

The Long Silence 107 

The Measure of Eyes 28 

The Monsters 61 

The New Army 22 

The Old Army 20 

The Old Year and the New 63 

The Red Cross Nurse 105 

The Riddle of the Clock 59 

The Tender-Hearted Man 39 

The Uncommon Commoner g 

The Victors 103 

The "Worker" 114 

Tisquantum 44 

Tolerance 83 

Tom L. Johnson 18 

Unweeping or Unwept 58 

Wage of the Slave 112 

Washington 16 

Watching God Grow 65 

When the Two Flags Fly Together 30 

William Brown of Argentine 97 

Yours 92 



Tl 



r 



l F=adl 



"=1BE 



E]I=IE 



EIBE 



E1E=]E 



IQI^JJ 



AUG 7 1913 



